#thanks for helping me scoop <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[hide-your-bugs-away]

Probably the wildest record haul I have ever been bestowed... after my dentist appointment, no less.

I FINALLY HAVE A VINTAGE COPY OF ANIMALIZATION aaAAAAAA MY COLLECTION OF U.S. ANIMALS VINYLS IS AT LAST COMPLETE ‼️🐾✨️ All from local record stores as well!

[mamawasatesttube]

other timkonbart-adjacent thoughts that i entertain myself with: the specific vibe of romantic timkon + queerplatonic konbart (who simply don't label it bc they don't feel the need. kon is bart's favorite jungle gym and bart is kon's silly rabbit. what else is there to say?)

kon and bart are just at each other's houses and homes constantly. max loves to talk gardening and farm life with kon, who passes on ma's recipes and tips for his kitchen garden. bart offloads chives (and cucumbers. and zucchini. and eggplants. max for the love of god don't you dare plant that mint) onto kon, who is more than happy to bring by some offerings from the kent family farmer's market stall. bart shows up at the farm all the time just to hang out with kon when he's bored. ma loves to feed him and he loves to eat. it works out incredibly well for the both of them. bart will help himself to kon's closet and sleep in his bed even if kon himself isn't there. this tickles ma pink. at least once kon has made what he calls "the most bitchin' peach cobbler of all time", courtesy of ma's recipe, and bart takes one bite and his entire face lights up and he just launches himself across the room like "bro this is so good i am kissing you on the mouth" and then he does. he's so very aroace but physical affection is good and great and frankly, the peach cobbler is just really that bitchin.

all of which is to say: when kon finally is like soooo ma. im uh. dating one of my friends now :> she's So confused when it's not bart. like... oh, it's... it's not? oh i just thought-- no no tim is very sweet, he fixed the tractor up so well for us, of course i love him! i just, well, i thought you and bart... i've certainly never seen bart perched strangely on the rooftop at half past four in the morning, is all. but you should definitely bring tim around more! that boy is too thin we need to feed him--

[daxisyzz]

Hey there i hope you’re having a great day!

I was thinking about a version of Bucky in which he is absolutely head over heels smitten with his girl that he melts over her simply sweet talking him to get something she wants, he can’t even help it he thinks she is the cutest thing ever.

I feel like no one can do smitten Bucky Barnes justice other than you

Or maybe I’m being biased lol.

Thank you!

Hope you're having a great day too. And thank you for the compliment, it made my day 🫠

Here's your fluffy bucky story. Hope its how you wanted <3

Pretty please

Pairings: Bucky Barnes × Reader (established relationship)

Summary: Bucky Barnes is hopelessly in love with you. He gives you everything you ask for—until you stop asking. That’s when he decides to give you the one thing you never say aloud.

Word count: 1.3k+

Warnings and tags: Smitten Bucky, a duck?, reader feels slight guilt only for a second, lover boy barnes.

Bucky Barnes had faced down entire armies. He’d survived missions no man should’ve made it out of, stood toe-to-toe with monsters, and walked through fire more times than he could count. But none of that compared to this—to you. To your soft smiles, your gentle laughter, and your very specific brand of mischief. You didn’t need weapons or war to bring a super soldier to his knees.

You just needed one look.

That head tilt. That spark in your eyes. The way your lips would part in that little smile as you leaned in and said in the sweetest voice imaginable—

“Pretty please? With puppy dog eyes?”

He never stood a chance.

You didn’t abuse it. That was the most dangerous part. You only asked for little things. Cute things. Things that could never be considered a burden. And Bucky, well… he’d give you the moon if you asked. Hell, he was halfway to building a rocket when you offhandedly said once, “I wonder what sunrise looks like from space.”

It was a joke. A passing thought.

But Bucky remembered. Bucky always remembered.

The duck was his personal favorite.

It had started on a rainy afternoon, one of those slow, sleepy days where time seemed to stretch. You were in his hoodie, feet tucked into his lap on the couch, scrolling through videos on your phone while the sound of the storm tapped softly against the windows.

You gasped. “Oh my God.”

Bucky looked over, amused. “What?”

You turned the screen to him, pointing wildly. “LOOK at this duck. He’s wearing a sweater vest. This is the cutest thing I’ve ever seen in my life. James. Look at his feet.”

Bucky squinted. “Huh. He’s fancy.”

“Fancy?!” you cried, clutching the phone. “He’s a whole gentleman. I would DIE for him.”

He chuckled, fingers drumming lightly along your shin. “Would you die for him… or want one of your own?”

You bit your lip. “Bucky, I am not asking you for a duck.”

He leaned back. “But you want one.”

You hesitated. Then…You folded your hands under your chin, your eyes impossibly wide and filled with longing. “Pretty please? With puppy dog eyes?”

He groaned, one hand dragging down his face as a grin crept in. “Not fair. That’s cheating.”

You beamed. “You love it.”

“I do,” he muttered, fully doomed.

Two days later, you opened the back door to the sight of a small, waddling creature in a tiny hand-crocheted sweater vest approaching the porch.

You blinked. “Is that—”

Bucky stood behind the duck, arms folded and entirely too pleased with himself. “His name is Sir Quacksalot. He likes strawberries. And cuddles.”

You gasped. “YOU GOT ME A DUCK?!”

He shrugged. “You said pretty please.”

Your squeal nearly shattered glass. You scooped the duck into your arms and spun around like you’d just won the lottery. “This is the best day of my LIFE.”

Bucky leaned against the railing, watching you coo over your new feathery friend. His chest felt warm—like some part of him had been waiting his whole life to see you this happy.

There was nothing he wouldn’t give you. No wish too silly. No ask too big.

At least, that’s what he thought—until you stopped asking.

It started subtly.

You still smiled at him, still kissed his cheek while he made coffee in the morning, still called him your “Bucky bear” when you wanted to make him blush (which always worked). But you weren’t asking anymore. Not for little things. Not even for something as simple as “can we make pancakes for dinner?” or “let’s take the long way home.”

At first, Bucky didn’t notice. Life got busy. He assumed it was just a lull, something fleeting. But after a week, then two, his chest began to tighten with something like worry.

You still looked happy. But it was quieter. Softer. More... reserved.

He started paying more attention. How your “thank yous” came with a hesitance. How you’d say, “You didn’t have to do all this,” a little too often. How your smile would falter sometimes when he gave you something, even as you hugged him and said you loved it.

And then one night, while you were asleep curled up in his arms, Bucky got up to grab a blanket—and his eyes landed on your notebook.

He wasn’t looking to snoop. He’d seen you scribble in it before—little doodles, grocery lists, the occasional poem or recipe. But this time, a page had slipped out slightly, catching his eye.

He picked it up.

And his heart stopped.

A sketch. A rough pencil drawing of a cabin. Trees. A porch swing. Notes scribbled in the margins.

String lights here?

Big fireplace with that armchair I love.

Waking up to snow. Coffee in mismatched mugs. Just us.

Then, the words that made his breath catch:

“Somewhere far enough to breathe. Somewhere I can wake up with him and feel like the world is still.”

You hadn’t shown this to him.

You hadn’t asked.

And he knew—instantly, gut-deep—that you’d wanted this more than anything. But you’d stopped asking because you didn’t want to seem like you were asking for too much. As if he hadn’t already given you his heart, his home, his soul.

Bucky closed the notebook gently.

And called in a few favors.

You were already suspicious when he drove you out of the city and wouldn’t tell you why. The trees grew thicker, the air cooler, and your eyes narrowed with every passing mile.

“Bucky,” you said slowly. “Where are we going?”

“You’ll see.”

“You’re being weird.”

“I’m always weird.”

You huffed, crossing your arms. “If this is a murder cabin, I swear—”

He snorted. “Trust me. You’re gonna like it.”

When he pulled off onto a narrow gravel path, your heart began to thud. And then you saw it.

The porch swing. The twinkling lights. The tall trees surrounding the cabin in quiet serenity, the kind of calm you only ever dreamed of.

Your hand flew to your mouth. “No way,” you whispered.

Bucky stepped out of the car and rounded to your door, pulling it open gently. “Come on, sweetheart.”

You stepped out, staring at the cabin like it might vanish if you blinked. “How did you—?”

“I found your notebook.” You froze.

“I wasn’t snooping. Just saw the page,” he said softly. “And I thought… if you won’t ask for it, I’m just gonna make it happen anyway.”

Your throat tightened. “I didn’t ask because it felt… like too much. You already do so much for me.”

He cupped your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin like he was touching something precious. “There’s no such thing as ‘too much’ when it comes to you. You want it? It’s already yours.”

Tears stung your eyes.

He pulled you into his chest and held you there for a long time, his chin resting against your head, his heart thundering against your ear.

“I love you,” you whispered.

“I know,” he murmured. “And I love you more than I’ve ever known how to say.”

That night, you sat on the porch with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders, Bucky behind you, his arms around your waist as you sipped hot cocoa in one of your mismatched mugs.The stars were clear. The world was still.

Sir Quacksalot waddled across the porch in another ridiculous sweater (Bucky had packed a whole duffel bag of duck outfits, because of course he had).

And you leaned back into the arms of a man who would burn down the world just to see you smile.

He kissed your shoulder, then whispered against your skin, “You never have to ask, doll. If it matters to you… it already matters to me.”

And in that moment, with his love wrapped around you like a second skin, you finally believed it.

[ilovolderman]

The Match

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: While secretly dating You, Bucky gets roped into a dating app by Sam

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: humor, fluff, secret dating, light jealousy

A/N: this can be read as a standalone even though it's part of a series called "You Said What" (this is already part 5, so yes, im calling it a series.) It doesn't necessarily follow a specific order, but if you want to check out the other parts, here they are: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4. thanks for reading, i hope you like it :)

The kitchen was warm and quiet, filled with the soft morning light pouring in through the big windows. You were curled up on the counter in one of Bucky’s henleys — technically yours now, since you’d claimed it after “accidentally” falling asleep in it two months ago. He hadn’t asked for it back.

Bucky stood between your legs, his hands resting gently on your thighs as he stole tiny sips from your coffee cup every time you lowered it.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” you mumbled, narrowing your eyes at him as he swiped it again.

He smirked, brushing a thumb over your knee. “Can’t help it. Yours always tastes better.”

You rolled your eyes but leaned forward anyway, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth. He caught you halfway and turned it into a real kiss — slow, unhurried, the kind that made time feel irrelevant.

You sighed against his lips. “If you keep kissing me like that, we’re never gonna eat.”

“We can skip breakfast,” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

“And deal with Sam’s ‘someone didn’t have their Wheaties’ speech again? No thanks.”

Bucky groaned and stepped back, reluctantly, while you hopped off the counter. You started prepping your coffee again, and he leaned close to watch.

“One scoop…” he counted aloud.

You snuck a glance at him and grinned. “Three.”

“Three?” he fake-gasped. “You planning to vibrate through walls?”

“Says the guy who had four yesterday.”

“Three and a half,” he corrected, deadpan.

You snorted. “Uh-huh. Keep lying to yourself, grandpa.”

He gave you a playful glare but said nothing, instead leaning over to steal one of your toast slices like a thief in the night.

And then — of course — the kitchen door swung open.

“Okay, what the hell is this domestic energy?” Sam’s voice boomed as he walked in. “Am I interrupting a rom-com or—?”

You and Bucky practically jumped apart like teenagers caught red-handed. You reached for the peanut butter like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“Morning,” you both said, far too casually, far too in sync.

Sam narrowed his eyes. “Weird. Anyway…”

He turned to Bucky, eyes narrowing as he opened the fridge. “You look grumpier than usual.”

“I always look like this.”

“That’s what worries me,” Sam said, pulling out the orange juice. “You need a little somethin’ in your life. A spark. Some romance.”

You snorted into your coffee. “Wow, subtle.”

Sam shot you a grin. “I’m serious, Bucky. You look miserable and I’m sick of it. Your need to get out there. Meet people. Real people. People who don’t, y’know, punch aliens for a living.”

“I’m not miserable,” Bucky muttered, taking a very aggressive bite of toast.

Sam ignored him. “You need someone to, like, hold your hand and remind you that the world isn’t complete garbage.”

“Y/N does that,” Bucky said before realizing. His eyes flicked to you. Yours widened slightly.

“Uh— I mean…” he coughed. “You could. You’re good at pep talks.”

Smooth. Real smooth.

But Sam was too busy with his phone to notice the weird energy. “Anyway, I’m gonna download Spark for you.”

“Oh no,” you whispered.

“Oh yes.” Sam grinned, typing furiously. “It’s like Tinder but for people who still believe in feelings.”

“Delete it,” Bucky said immediately.

“Too late. Already making your profile. Okay — full name?”

“Absolutely not.”

Sam looked up. “Fine, we’ll just put ‘Bucky B.’ You sound like a retired DJ. Age... one-oh-six... but we’ll round down to thirty-five. Close enough.”

You had to cover your mouth with your hand to stop from laughing. Bucky looked like he was actually malfunctioning.

“Give me your phone. I'm deleting it.”

“Nope.” Sam sidestepped him and kept typing. “Bio time. What do you want it to say? ‘Strong, silent, may or may not have trauma, will kill spiders for you’?”

“Sam.”

“Oh! And profile picture.” Sam’s grin went feral. “I’m gonna use the one from Clint’s barbecue.”

Bucky froze. “No. Not the one where—”

“Yup,” Sam said, turning the phone around dramatically. “The one where you’re smiling. A real smile. The people gotta see the goods, man.”

You wheezed. “That’s actually a really good picture.”

“It is,” Sam agreed, tapping to save the profile. “Now we wait. Trust me, you're gonna get matches faster than Tony blows money.”

Bucky looked physically pained.

And then… the phone buzzed.

“Oh snap — you already got a match! Girl named Olivia.” Sam said, scrolling like a man on a mission. “Look at this—she hikes, she volunteers at animal shelters. Honestly, Buck, she’s like a Hallmark movie in human form. You should totally message her.”

You blinked.

Something inside you twisted — that unwelcome, unmistakable burn of jealousy curling in your chest.

Bucky looked… surprised. And then cautious. “That was fast.”

“She’s cute,” Sam said, scrolling. “She said you have nice eyes. You should message her. Or better yet, go on a date. What’s the worst that could happen?”

You forced a laugh. “Yeah, Buck. You should totally go.”

Bucky turned toward you slowly. His smile had faded into something softer. Thoughtful. He tilted his head, studying your face like it was a puzzle he was halfway through solving.

“…Maybe,” he said carefully, like he was testing the word.

You smiled a little too tightly. “Good for you.”

Bucky narrowed his eyes, like he could see right through you.

You lasted approximately six hours before cracking. Not that you were counting.

You’d spent the day trying not to think about Olivia. Or her "kind eyes". Or the fact that Bucky had apparently matched with her in under a minute. Not that it mattered, obviously. You were cool. Chill. Entirely unaffected.

…Until Bucky found you in the hallway on your way back to your room, grabbed your hand, and wordlessly tugged you into his.

He shut the door behind you, arms crossed. He didn't look mad. Just… knowing.

You tried to play it cool. “If this is about the last cookie, I swear I thought it was mine.”

“It’s not about the cookie.”

You looked up at him, heart thudding. “Then what?”

Bucky’s eyes didn’t waver. “You told me to go. Like it didn’t bother you.”

You scoffed lightly, trying to brush it off. “I was just being cool. Y’know, chill. Unbothered.”

“You were seething, doll.”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest tightened. “Okay, maybe a little. So what?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away. He just watched you for a second, his silence pressing gently around your walls. Not demanding, not accusing — just waiting for you to be honest.

You exhaled and leaned back against the door. “I know I said it didn’t bother me, but the second Sam said you matched with someone, it was like—like my stomach dropped out.”

His brow furrowed, stepping closer.

You continued, voice softer. “I know you love me. I do. But the idea of someone else getting even a piece of you… I hated it. And that scared me. I didn’t want to be the clingy one or the insecure one or the girl who flips out over some dumb dating app.”

Bucky’s face softened completely. “Hey.”

He closed the gap and cupped your face in his hands, his thumb brushing your cheek.

“You are not insecure. You’re not clingy. You’re human. And you love me.” He kissed your forehead gently. “I want you to care.”

Your chest cracked wide open, and you let yourself lean into him.

“I don’t want to share you, Buck,” you whispered. “Not even a little.”

“You never have to,” he murmured. “You’ve got all of me. Always.”

“…So what about Olivia?” you asked, barely above a whisper.

He shrugged. “I unmatched her hours ago. Right after you said good for you like you were trying not to cry.”

You gaped. “You what?”

Bucky smirked. “The only person I want… is you.”

Your heart stuttered, full and aching and impossibly light all at once. “Bucky—”

“You’ve had me from the moment you stole my henley and never gave it back.” His voice was barely a whisper. “You don’t have to be chill. You don’t have to play it cool. You already have all of me.”

Your laugh was shaky, but your smile was real. “Even if I get all weird over fictional matches on dating apps?”

He grinned. “Especially then.”

You leaned into him, your fingers curling around the hem of his shirt. “So you’re not going on a date with Olivia?”

“Nope,” he said, nuzzling your nose with his. “Unless you change your name and start volunteering at animal shelters.”

You snorted. “I would for you.”

Bucky kissed you then — sweet, slow, soft. The kind of kiss that made you forget all the awkward moments of the morning. The kind that made you feel like you were the only two people in the world.

You laughed into the kiss, your fingers curling around his shirt. “You absolute...”

“—Boyfriend material?” Bucky finished, hopeful.

You smiled, lighter than you had all day. “Absolutely.”

Somewhere down the hall, Sam shouted, “I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DELETED SPARK—!”

You broke apart, laughing breathlessly. “We should probably tell him.”

Bucky sighed into your neck. “Or we fake our deaths and disappear into the Alps.”

“Tempting.”

next part

taglist: @svtbpbts @cupids-mf-arrow @whitewolfluvr @cece2608 @yehfitoormera @yesiamthatwierd

[tbaluver]

hello author! i hope ur doing good! i would like to request a scenario wherein the dad!lads are leaving for work but their little ones don’t want them to go while clutching onto their legs. how would each of them react in that situation? i need more domestic dad! lads huhuhu thank u <3

Papa Don't Go!- The Love And DeepSpace Men

featuring ( in order ): xavier, zayne, rafayel, sylus, caleb genre: fluff fluff summary: their child(ren) cling onto their leg before they go to work a/n: hihi anonnie! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ i hope you're doing good too luv! no rafayel's were harmed in the writing process of this (°ロ°) i hope this was alright and that you enjoy reading! (∩˃o˂∩)♡ any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

The front door creaks open with a groan, making it echo through the quiet house. The noise was enough to stir your son from his peaceful nap. His little eyelids fluttered open, still heavy with so much sleep as he rubbed them with his chubby little fists. He thinks he must’ve slept for a while, and hearing the door open, that means Papa Xavier must be heading to work!

With the tiniest yawn, he carefully slipped out of the low bed, his small feet barely making a sound as they padded softly across the floor. Still half asleep, he staggered toward the door, sleepily shuffling as he wandered out of the room.

Sleepily, your son pads across the floor, his tiny feet making soft thuds as he reaches Xavier’s side. He tugs at the hem of Xavier’s pants, “Papa stay?” He asked with a sleepy smile.

Xavier’s heart melted at the sight. He crouched down to meet his son’s gaze, brushing his large hand gently through his soft, disheveled hair. “I wish I could..But I have to go. You can stay with mommy, okay? Let’s get you back to mom-” Before he can even finish his sentence, he feels a tiny weight against his leg, his son’s arm wrapping around his calf. Xavier’s breath hitched as his son tried to tighten and he looked down to see his little boy with the most adorably pitiful pout.

“noo..stay with me and mama..” His voice muffled as he hid his face in his pants uniform.

Xavier froze for a moment, his chest tightening. He couldn’t help but smile through the lump that had formed in his throat. “I have to go, but it won’t take long. I promise.” He murmurs, leaning down to gently peel the boy off his leg, but pauses when he hears light snoring.

Xavier let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. Carefully, he scoops his son into his arms and carries him back to bed, where you were still sleeping peacefully. He tucks you both in, pressing a kiss to your forehead before finally turning back to the door.

Zayne:

Getting to work had become manageable to say so at the least. Zayne had mastered the art of slipping out of your iron grip each morning that was refined over time. But with a new addition to the family, mornings had grown a little more difficult. He’d started leaving an hour earlier just in case there were any tears that spilled and some clinging that he assumes that she gets from you.

However, nothing could have prepared him for this morning.

Just as he reached for the front door, tiny feet pads quickly toward him and tiny arms wrap tightly around his legs, keeping him frozen in place.

“papa, don’t go..” came a soft, sleepy whine. Her voice was muffled against his pant leg, her eyes were barely open, but surprisingly, her little hands grasped him tightly. He sighed, his chest tightening as he closed his eyes for a moment before kneeling to her level.

“My love,” he murmurs gently, brushing a few wild strands of hair from her face. “I have to go. It’s too early for you to be awake right now. You should be sleeping.” he tried to gently unwind her arms from his legs, but the moment he did, she lunged forward and wrapped her arms around his neck, hugging him even tighter. The sudden squeeze made him let out a soft, surprised chuckle.

“Can I go with you?” she asked, her lower lip trembling. He smiles softly, shaking his head as he places a kiss on her forehead.

“I’m afraid you’re not on my shift today,” he said with a quiet laugh. “You’re scheduled to stay here and be with your mother.”

She clung to him, blinking up at him as she thinks for a moment. “Can you make sure to take care of her while I’m gone?”

She hesitates for a moment, then gives him a solemn little nod as if accepting a very important mission. He held her close for one last hug before scooping her up in his arms and carrying her back to bed. He tucked her gently beside you.

Leaning down, he presses a kiss to her forehead, then yours. And with one last look, he slipped out the door, hoping the day would finish quickly.

Rafayel:

Rafayel crouches down, arms wide open as his kids run straight into them. He scoops them up into a group hug, squeezing them close as he presses soft kisses to the tops of their heads, letting out a heavy sigh after.

“I’m sorry my little guppies..papa has to go now.” His voice tinged with sadness.

He stood up slowly as if the act of physically parting from his family weighed him down, which it in fact did. Tonight, he was off to an exclusive art exhibition—one to which only artists and collectors were invited. He wished to bring you and the kids along, but Thomas had made it clear, no guests.

As he makes his way to the door, one of his kids jumped at him from behind while the other two rushed in from either side and wrapped themselves tightly around his legs.

“You-!”

“WAHHHH DON’T GO PAPAA,” one of them wails, their voice quivering. “Yeah! Don’t go!” Another joins, clinging even tighter to his pant leg.

Rafayel gasps, wobbling unsteadily. “Wait..my legs-!” He staggers, then drops dramatically to his knees, the child on his back now riding his shoulders. You watch from the back, already knowing where this is going. This isn’t the first time the kids have staged something like this to keep Rafayel home.

Raf groans again, throwing the back of his hand to his forehead dramatically. “Oh no..I think I twisted something..my ankle..yeah, it’s definitely sprained..I can’t go to work now..”

The kids gasped. One let out a delighted, “YAYYY” clearly only hearing the part about him not going to work. The other frowns, eyes wide with concern. “Are you okay, papa?” She asks softly, patting his legs as if it were to make him feel better. “Does this help?”

He groans a little louder, but hides the corner of his mouth that’s curling into a smile. “I think..I think I should stay home with my guppies today. What do you guys think?”

Instantly, cheers erupted, and tiny arms wrapped around him in a tight embrace. He was quickly buried under a pile of laughter and squeals, not caring how mad Thomas was going to be tonight.

Sylus:

“sweetie-”

“no.”

This had been going on for at least five minutes. Sylus had to hand it to her—his daughter was nothing if not persistent. She stood firm in what she thought was right while clinging stubbornly to his pant leg like it would hold him down.

If she kept this up for a while longer, Sylus would’ve started to accept the fact that his daughter might actually win this round. It was quite adorable that she thinks she’s able to stop him, and in a way, she kind of was. She was one of his soft spots, just like you. He was honestly impressed.

With a chuckle, he closed his eyes, a smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. His little dove is just like her mother. “You really don’t want to make this easy for me, hm?”

She met his gaze and gave a fierce little adorable nod, her white pigtails bouncing. “Well, how about a deal? What’s it going to take for you to let go?”

“Stay.” She says softly, tilting her head. “Mommy and I will be sad if you go to work.” Her voice softened into a pout, eyes wide.

Sylus’s smile deepened, “Sweetie,” he said gently, “Mommy’s strong even when I’m not here. Do you think you can be strong like her? Just for a little while?”

She hesitates for a moment, lips twitching as she considers it. Slowly, her arms uncurl from his leg. “Okay, papa..” she murmurs, looking away, defeatedly. Her bottom lip jutted out in a pout.

With a soft sigh, he cups her small cheeks with his large hands, thumb brushing over her skin. “Hey..Since you were so good..” He said teasingly, “How about I bring back something special for you?” Her eyes immediately lit up.

“And for mommy too?!” She bounced, clapping her little hands. Sylus richly laughs, pulling her into his arms to press a gentle kiss to the top of her head. Maybe that love she has for you is a part of him that she carries.

“Of course.”

Caleb:

Caleb chuckles when he feels the sudden grip of small arms wrap tightly around his legs. “Hey, c’mon, don’t make this harder for your old pops,” he says with a soft laugh, adjusting the brim of his colonel’s cap.

He bends slightly, reaching down to ruffle their hair, but both kids turn their faces into his legs, refusing to let go. A smile curls on his lips, his eyes fluttering closed for just a second. These are the moments that remind him that he’s done something right as a father.

“Alright, alright, you guys got me,” he says, playing along. “So..what’ll it take to get clearance for takeoff?”

The two exchange a glance as identical grins break across their faces. “Let’s do airplanes again, Dad!” his son shouts. “Yeah! Lift us up, daddy!” his daughter joins in.

Caleb lifts them both up into the air with ease. They squeal and giggle, their laughter echoing throughout the house as they soar around the living room. Caleb grins wide, watching them float, their fingertips grazing the ceiling.

“This is your captain speaking,” he announces in his nice pilot voice. “Captain Caleb is assisting two very important co-pilots on their path.” They glide and spin around the air until, with his careful guidance, they come in for a soft landing in your waiting arms.

“Wha-dad!” his son protests, attempting to be free from your arms, only to be gently held back by a gravitational nudge.

Caleb approaches, ruffling their hair before planting a kiss on each little forehead. “Alright, co-pilots,” he says, crouching to meet their eyes. “Your mission now is to stay on land with mom while I keep my eyes on the sky. Think you can handle that?” The children hesitate, then nod slowly.

He straightens, meeting your eyes. “I'll be home soon. I promise.” His hand lingers on your cheek as he gives you a long, lingering kiss.

From below, you both, two small voices groan in unison. “ewwww!” He chuckles against your lips, pulling back with a grin on his face. Even pilots need a little fuel before takeoff.

ʚɞ cr. for the divider @/ cafekitsune

ʚɞ beta read by @ilovemitsuya MWAH ♡(˃͈ ˂͈ )

ʚɞ 𝘕𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯:

ʚɞ my other works if you want to check it out! The Love And DeepSpace Masterlist, Pg. 2

ʚɞ Others places you can find me:

Wattpad

Twitter ( but idk how to use it or interact with people )

[spencerreidenjoyer]

lovebird | spencer reid x reader

Spencer's little girl sets you and her dad up.

wc: 3.3k, rating: teen

tags/warnings: 2+1, kindergarten teacher!reader, single girldad!spencer, fluff, meet-cute, implied sex, use of "Y/N" because this fic would've been impossible to write without it oops

a/n: not sure what possessed me to write this, but i finished writing this in about 2 days lmao. girldad!spencer loml. thank you to my lovely friends over on twitter who fuelled my insanity. for this fic i have season 10 spencer in mind/later seasons spencer who's just full on daddy at that point <3 (also crossposted on ao3!)

Sunday

You’re at the grocery store in a ratty t-shirt and sweats, picking out fucking cereal when you hear the pitter-patter of footsteps running towards you, and a sweet, high-pitched voice calling your name. 

It’s one of your students, Ellie Reid, holding a box of cereal that’s half her height, and she comes up to you in the aisle. 

“Ellie? What are you doing here?” You ask sweetly, pushing your hair out of your face before you squat down to meet Ellie’s height. 

“My daddy wanted to get groceries. He said we would go together. But he had to pick up the phone, and I wanted to help look for the things Daddy needs.”

Her dad, Dr. Spencer Reid, is an FBI agent and a single dad to Ellie. He’s one of the best parents you’ve had this year – the fancy kindergarten you teach at lends itself to spoiled brats and uptight parents, but Dr. Reid and Ellie are a welcome reprieve in a usually stuffy environment. You’re pleased to see her here, on a weekend, but less pleased with the fact that she’s alone. 

“Oh, wow! You’re so helpful, Ellie,” you say, holding her arm gently. “I’m sure your dad is really thankful. But you shouldn’t have walked off alone. I’m glad you found me.”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s not safe for you to walk around alone in the grocery store, Ellie,” you smile. “Let’s go find your dad.”

Ellie nods, her cheeks ruddy and when you hold out your hand for her to hold, Ellie’s little hand wraps around two of your fingers. “Did you come to the grocery store alone? It’s not safe.”

“I did come alone. But I’m an adult, so it’s okay. You’re little, Ellie, so you should only walk around with your dad.” You lead Ellie down aisle after aisle, walking past canned food and bags of chips and walls lined with bottles of drinks. 

“But you shouldn’t walk around alone if it’s dangerous. When we find my daddy maybe he can protect you too!” Ellie says confidently. 

When did this grocery store feel so big? You can’t find Dr. Reid anywhere, and you feel a rising panic in your chest. You have half a mind to pull up the school’s contact information in your phone, but you hear Dr. Reid’s voice calling his daughter’s name, and both you and Ellie turn around.

“Daddy!” Ellie shrieks, almost dropping the box of cereal in her arms as she dashes toward her father. She almost trips as she closes the distance, thankfully landing in her father’s arms before she does fall. 

Dr. Reid scoops her up, holding her tightly. “You had me worried, sweetheart.”

“Sorry, Daddy,” Ellie mumbles against her father’s shoulder. “But I found Miss Y/N and she helped me find you!”

“I told her not to run off alone in the future,” you say. “Right, Ellie?” 

The sweet girl nods. She giggles into Dr. Reid’s shoulder, and his hand comes up to pat her back, a soothing gesture.

“I’m glad it was you she bumped into,” Dr. Reid says, sighing with relief. “I wouldn’t know I would do with myself if–”

“It’s okay, Dr. Reid,” you assure him. “It’s not a problem at all. You’re– You’re doing a great job with her.”

“Thank you for saying that. I– I’ll see you at the parent-teacher meeting next Friday, right?”

“Yeah, next Friday.” You smile at him. “Have a good day, Dr. Reid. Bye, Ellie!”

“Bye!” Ellie, sweet girl, waves excitedly, her gummy smile overtaking her face. Dr. Reid walks toward the checkout, holding Ellie with one hand and pushing his shopping cart with the other. 

You feel how warm your cheeks are when Dr. Reid and Ellie are finally out of sight, your hand clammy around the handle of your shopping basket. You slap your cheek lightly, willing yourself to pull yourself together.

The way your heart flutters whenever you see Dr. Reid is a cause for concern, and you wonder if you should see a doctor about it. 

Dr. Spencer Reid is a marvel. He’s admirable, juggling his job at the FBI with raising a little girl all on his own, and he’s both a great profiler and a great dad. He’s incredibly sweet with Ellie and incredibly kind to you, which you unfortunately don’t get a lot, especially with the kinds of parents you deal with. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome: his hair is slightly long, wavy and messy in a way that frames his face just right, not to mention the stubble that makes him look that much hotter.

Your little crush on Dr. Reid is certainly inappropriate, but over the parent-teacher meetings and interacting with him when he drops off and picks up his daughter from school, you can’t help yourself from falling for him. 

Tuesday

Ellie Reid is a smart girl, that you know, but you're blindsided by her genius one day at recess. You’re monitoring all the kids at the playground when Ellie comes up to you. She has a contorted look on her face but she says, “Miss Y/N, I fell.”

“You did? Are you feeling okay?” You ask, squatting down to match her height. You look at her knees – not a speck of dirt nor a red spot from falling down.

“My knee hurts. Can you call my daddy?”

“Does it hurt badly? I’ll take you to see the nurse if it does,” you say, not entirely understanding the situation. You’ve never met a four-year-old who wouldn’t be in tears over tripping and falling, even if the injury wasn’t severe. 

The look on Ellie’s face makes you think that she’s trying to match your expectations of what she should be feeling. “It doesn't hurt bad. I just want my daddy to come pick me up. Can you call him?”

You try not to furrow your brow at the strange request. You’re usually trusted to handle any little accidents and mishaps with the children, but at Ellie’s insistence of calling her father, you feel like you should. 

(It’s certainly not spurred on by seeing him at the grocery store last weekend.)

“Alright, Ellie. I’ll call your dad and see what he says, okay?”

“Okay, Miss Y/N,” Ellie says, smiling at you. You get her to sit down on the bench next to you and your co-teacher to oversee the kids before fish your phone out from your pocket to dial Dr. Reid’s number. As you wait for the call to go through, Ellie looks at you with wide, expectant eyes. You smile at her.

On the third ring, Dr. Reid picks up. “Hello?” 

“Hi, Dr. Reid. This is Miss Y/N from Ellie’s school. I’m calling to inform you that Ellie fell on the playground during recess.”

“Oh, my. Is she alright?” You hear Dr. Reid’s voice grow concerned. Ellie looks up at you, and you look the little girl up and down one more time just to be sure.

“Yes, she is. I checked and she doesn’t have any scrapes or bruises. She says her knee hurts, but that she’s also fine. Usually, we don’t call parents over small mishaps like this, but Ellie insisted that I call you.”

“I see,” Dr. Reid hums, his tone indecipherable. “Can I talk to her?”

“Sure thing, Dr. Reid,” you say. You hold the phone out to Ellie as you put the call on speakerphone and tell her, “Your dad wants to speak to you, Ellie.”

Ellie is polite, but clearly excited as she yells, “Hi, Daddy!” 

“Woah! Hi, Ellie,” Dr. Reid laughs, his serious tone while he was speaking to you gone, talking to his daughter with a delightful whimsy. “Miss Y/N told me you fell on the playground today. Does it hurt?”

“No,” Ellie answers, but she looks up quickly at you. “I mean, yes. Just a little. It doesn’t hurt too bad anymore.”

You hide your smile, and you think you can hear the smile in Dr. Reid’s voice as he says, “Okay, sweet girl, that’s good.”

“Can you come and pick me up right now, Daddy?” Ellie asks, a little whiny. It’s adorable, though. 

“Well, it’s only ten in the morning, honey,” Dr. Reid bargains. “And I know you have art class later, right? Don’t you want to stay around for that?”

“I do!” Ellie says eagerly. “Oh, I love art class!”

“I know you do, honey,” Dr. Reid assures. “So, do you feel okay enough to stick around in class until Daddy comes to pick you up at the end of the day?”

“Yes, Daddy,” Ellie nods, even though Dr. Reid can’t see her. “But you have to come pick me up!”

“I always do, Ellie,” Dr. Reid laughs, making Ellie laugh along too. “Okay, honey. Go on and play with your friends. I’ll see you later.”

“Okay! Bye, Daddy! I love you!”

“Bye! I love you too, Ellie!” Dr. Reid matches Ellie’s excitable energy, and Ellie giggles before she runs off to play again. His voice returns to a calm but engaged sort of energy. “Well, that was something.”

“She seems fine,” you say, switching the speakerphone off as you hold your phone back up to your ear. “I’m sorry to bother you in the middle of your work day, Dr. Reid.”

“Oh, please, it’s not a bother at all,” Dr. Reid laughs gently. “I love talking to Ellie. She might miss me or something, if she had to fake a fall so you would call me.”

“Perhaps,” you say, slightly surprised that Dr. Reid would be so quick to call out his daughter’s bluff. Some of the other parents would rip your throat out if you even insinuated their child was in the wrong. “I’ll still keep an eye out for her.”

“Thanks, Miss Y/N,” Dr. Reid insists. “Besides, it’s always a pleasure getting a call from you.”

You don’t remember if you thank him before he hangs up, because all you can think about is Dr. Reid saying he enjoys talking to you.

After putting your phone away, you press your hands to your warm cheeks in an effort to calm yourself and your beating heart down. 

Dr. Reid is one of the last parents to come by during pickup. It’s a somewhat regular occurrence, with Dr. Reid’s busy and hectic job. You are never bothered by spending extra time with Ellie, and you know Dr. Reid always tries his best to pick Ellie up as soon as he can. He usually makes regular pickup so you never get to exchange more than a few words with him, but days like today aren’t necessarily rare either. But considering your interaction on Sunday, you’re secretly pleased with how it’s worked out. 

Only you and Ellie are left in the classroom, you having told your co-teacher to clock out first. You’re pleasantly surprised when there’s a knock on the door frame, Dr. Reid standing there in a cardigan and a button-up shirt with his dress pants. “Ellie!”

His hair is somehow more fluffy and messy than you’d seen him at the grocery store, but it just makes him look even more soft and domestic. You try not to look at Dr. Reid with hearts in your eyes as Ellie shrieks and runs towards him, Dr. Reid picking her up easily and swinging her around before he holds her tight. “Hi, sweet girl.”

“Daddy!” Ellie giggles. “I missed you today.”

“I missed you too, honey,” Dr. Reid coos, pressing a kiss to the top of Ellie’s head. Your insides melt, gooey at the tooth-rottingly sweet display in front of you. “Were you a good girl for Miss Y/N today?”

“Uh-huh!” Ellie nods, her gummy smile absolutely adorable. 

“She was a pleasure,” you add. “Hello, Dr. Reid.”

“Hello again.” Dr. Reid smiles. “It’s nice to see you. Are you doing well?”

“Yes, I am. Other than Ellie’s little incident, today was thankfully uneventful. Thank you for asking.”

Dr. Reid’s face scrunches up in an extremely endearing way, like it’s obvious that he’d want to know about… you. “Of course. I like to know you’re doing well. It’s great to hear.”

You feel like you don’t know what to say to that, perhaps a little too caught up in your little crush on him to come up with a coherent response. You laugh shyly, tucking your hair behind your ear. Dr. Reid has set Ellie down, and she wanders around the classroom, fidgeting with the pencils on the tables, but doesn’t stray too far from her dad. “Ellie seems to be fine from earlier, but you might want to check in with her again.”

“I will,” Dr. Reid says, nodding. “Oh! I almost forgot–”

You look on as Dr. Reid fumbles in his satchel, pulling a crumpled paper bag out. The paper bag looks bulky, oil stains seeped through on the sides and on the bottom. “Oh, it looks bad. It’s good, I promise– It’s a chocolate muffin from this really good bakery near my office. I just thought I’d get you one. Since you’re so helpful with Ellie. Especially today.”

Dr. Reid holds it out for you, and you scramble to step forward and take it. “Thank you, Dr. Reid, you- You didn’t have to. It’s my job to look after Ellie, after all. Not that it’s a burden, or just a job, I mean– Ellie’s great. She’s one of our brightest, but don’t tell any of the other parents that.”

Dr. Reid smiles so bright you feel like you could feel the warmth radiating from him. “I won’t, if I bump into any of them at the parent-teacher meeting.”

You bite your lip, smiling, shy at the attention Dr. Reid gives you. You think he’s flirting(?) with you, but you try to remain professional. You clear your throat. “Thank you, Dr. Reid.” 

“Thank you again, Miss Y/N. I mean it.” Dr. Reid asserts, and you feel your cheeks flush. “Tonight is pizza night, so Ellie and I should be making our way home right about now.”

“Pizza!” Ellie yells, giddy, causing both you and Dr. Reid to laugh. She zooms past you to stand next to her dad. 

“Thank you, Dr. Reid. I’ll see you proper on Friday,” you say, nodding your head slightly. “And I’ll see you, Ellie, tomorrow, yeah?”

“Bye, Miss Y/N!” Ellie waves frantically. Dr. Reid joins her in her waving, equally silly. 

“I look forward to seeing you then, Miss Y/N,” Dr. Reid smiles. “Bye.”

“Bye!” you reply, trying not to sound too eager, and then Dr. Reid ducks out of the classroom with Ellie in hand. You feel like you’re swooning so hard you might faint.

Friday

Parent-teacher meetings go smoothly, thankfully. There are parents who only bother to hear the praise you give their children, so ignorant to the criticisms of their children that you try not to make too obvious. After seeing nineteen sets of parents, Dr. Spencer Reid is your last of the day. You don’t want to say you’ve been waiting for this all day, but checking off the nineteen sets of parents before this has only made you more and more excited. 

Dr. Reid finally enters the classroom, two minutes early for his slot, but he’s alone. 

“Where’s Ellie? She’s totally allowed to sit in for these meetings too.”

“She’s at my boss’ place for a playdate with his son,” Dr. Reid says. “Actually, that sounds pretty weird, doesn’t it? My daughter, having a playdate with my boss’ son?”

“Not at all. They say it takes a village to raise a child. I’m glad your colleagues are so helpful with Ellie.”

“They really are,” Dr. Reid asserts, smiling. “Hotch– My boss, I mean– offered, knowing I had this meeting.”

“That’s really nice of him,” you nod. “So, about Ellie…”

“Please tell me you only have good things to say,” Dr. Reid jokes, and you try very hard not to swoon. 

“Essentially, yes,” you nod. “Ellie is such a bright girl, and she’s so sweet. She’s always helpful with her classmates and polite to everyone and the teachers too. Again, don’t tell this to the other parents, but Ellie’s set high standards for the rest of the class.”

“You’re telling me an awful lot that I shouldn’t be telling the other parents,” Dr. Reid grins. “You sure you aren’t playing favourites?”

“You certainly are my favourite,” you say before you can catch yourself, and Dr. Reid looks at you with wide eyes. You imagine you look equally shocked. “I’m sorry, Dr. Reid, I didn't mean to say that.”

Dr. Reid cocks his head, a little smile toying on his lips. “Miss Y/N, did I ever tell you what I do for the FBI?”

You have no idea how this relates to how unprofessional and inappropriate you are being. You shake your head anyway, too afraid to say anything anymore before you say something even more embarrassing. 

“I’m a profiler, Miss Y/N. I use psychology and study behaviour to catch serial killers,” Dr. Reid explains, using his hands to articulate his point. Your eyes dart down to the motion; but your gaze quickly flits back up to his face. “In general, I’m good at reading people.”

“Is that so?” You gulp. Is he able to read you?

“I don’t mean to profile you, Miss Y/N, I mean it,” Dr. Reid sounds a little apologetic. “But I can’t help but notice the way you lean toward me when we’re speaking, the way you fidget with your hands a little, the way you can almost meet my eyes, but you still seem a little bashful about it. I either intimidate you, or…”

“Or..?” 

“I’m sorry if this is too forward, but would you like to get dinner with me?”

“What?” You ask, disbelieving. “Dinner?”

“You- You’re interested in me too, aren’t you?”

“Too?” You gape, sounding like a parrot as you repeat his words, simply unable to wrap your head around the fact that Ellie Reid’s young, hot, genius father just asked you on a date. 

“I’m usually not too doubtful of my profiling skills, but beautiful women like you make me second-guess if I’m reading this right.” Dr. Reid laughs, avoiding looking at you. 

“Dr. Reid, I would love to get dinner with you,” You say, trying to sound confident. 

Dr. Reid beams as he meets your eyes. “Oh, thank God.”

“Cheesy that you’re calling me beautiful,” you laugh bashfully, waving him off. 

“I mean it!” Dr. Reid insists. “And, um– Would you want to do dinner after this? If you don’t have any other meetings, of course. Or any other plans– you’d probably have plans on a Friday night, right? Way to be presumptuous–”

“Dr. Reid! I don’t have plans tonight. A dinner date sounds great,” you laugh.

“Great! Great, good. I’m glad.” Dr. Reid says, looking a little giddy that you’d taken him up on it. “Also, um- I love when people call me Dr. Reid, but please just call me Spencer. Do you think people would get the wrong idea if you called me Dr. the whole time?” 

You cackle, Spencer looking thoroughly pleased at making you laugh. 

“Okay, Spencer,” you try his first name, and it rolls off your tongue with ease. “Let me pack up and then we can go get dinner.”

“I like when you say my name,” Spencer smiles. “What’re you feeling for dinner?”

If you and Spencer kiss at the end of your dinner date in front of your apartment door, that’s between you and him. 

You pulling Spencer into your apartment with your hands fisted in his hair should also stay between you and him. 

It doesn’t entirely stay between you and him, though, as Spencer calls his boss to turn Ellie’s playdate into a sleepover before he rolls over to kiss you and take you all over again. 

[oreo-creampies]

𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐞𝐳𝐢𝐧’, 𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧’ 𝐧’ 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: high!reader, satosugu au, cocksucking/face-fucking/pussy-eating, double pentration (same hole/no anal), heavy heavy praise/teasing, confessions, heavy overstimulation, mindbreak, squirting, dacryphilia, begging, creampie, satoru sucks on the mix of cum that suguru scoops out of your cunt, cervix fucking, letting wine trickle into your mouth with a kiss/licking wine off of you, first time with the reader, size kink, satosugu in an established relationship (they had talked about their feelings with each other for you previously/Satoru has talked to you and set something up for suguru’s b-day), bdsm sex room, bondage (with long silk ribbon instead of rope), suguru is blindfolded temporarily, biting, spanking

𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞! 3.1k/11 minutes

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧: HI PRETTY;!! today marks geto suguru's birthday iirc (3rd of February), so could this nonnie pretty please with a cherry ontop request something, anything that involves his birthday!! :3 bonus points if Satoru's being a tease to him all the way through ♡♡ can be smutty or fluffy according to your own fantasies, author!

Oreo: thank you anon for reminding me about his b day it straight slipped my mind! 🫶🏽

Satoru leads Suguru towards you, long blue ribbons wrap around your chest, and waist, binding your arms behind your back. Your legs are free, unable to touch the floor. A small bullet vibrator is pulsing on your soft, sensitive clit. Your cunt is dripping wet, your body is trembling, and you can't stop moaning.

Satoru reminds you, “Don't speak yet gorgeous you’ll ruin it.” Suguru’s cheek, stopping Suguru close to your bound body. Satoru glides two long, thick fingers in with a loud squelch. “You can moan all you want sweetheart.” Satoru pumps his fingers faster, stroking your sweet spot.

Satoru lets go of Suguru, leaving him standing with a blindfold on and his hard cock hanging. There is a thick white pre-cum beading up on the tip of his cock. He remarks, “She sounds sexy, looks like we don't have to gag this one.”

“I had a feeling you’ll like how she’s sounds. Best birthday gift we’ve given in years.”

“We?”

“You'll see.”

Satoru admires your soft cunt stretching for his thick fingers. “I wanna be able to hear you when I close my eyes and touch myself.” Satoru glides his fingers out, smearing your slick on Suguru’s lips.

Suguru takes Satoru’s fingers into his mouth, licking and sucking with a loud groan. Till Satoru glides them out. “She tastes so good, I want more, lemme eat her out.” He reaches for the blindfold when Satoru gently grabs his wrist.

Satoru spits twice into his palm smearing it cover Suguru. Lowering Suguru’s hand as he drops his head back, softly sighing. “Fuck, love your hand is so damn soft.” Satoru lets him go, and closing the small space. Grinding his hips rubbing their cocks together.

Satoru looks down at the soft smile of lustful bliss on Suguru’s lips. “I'll let you take this off if you let me give you something first. It’s your birthday.” He slips Suguru’s blindfold off, tossing it aside.

Satoru steps aside to let Suguru see you. “We indeed, princess your trembling, how many times have you cummed? Let’s see if he can guess.” Satoru hugs Suguru from behind with one arm. Grabbing Suguru’s thick, heavy cock, slowly gliding his fingers over his head, smearing Suguru’s thick pre-cum.

You moan, “Lost count! It feels good! I want more! Want something to split my cunt open.” The veins in Suguru’s cock pulse with his heartbeat racing.

Satoru pumps his swirling fist faster. “Helped her get high as fuck before tying her up. Left her with a vibrator on her clit, which is why she left the party a little early and why I spent so long in the bathroom.” He kisses Suguru’s shoulder, then bites.

Suguru moans, grinding his ass into Satoru’s cock. “Both of you will be forgiven if you let me do what I want.” Satoru grabs Suguru’s hair and tugs.

He protests, “But it’s your birthday!” Satoru slowly swipes his thumb over Suguru’s head. “Lemme suck you off, you can watch her cum, that vibrator is not going anywhere.” Satoru gets on his knees in front of Suguru, looking up at him, holding his cock up. His head close to Satoru’s lips.

“You look beautiful staring up at me like that.” Suguru grabs Satoru’s hair. “How’s about you suck my cock in between me stuffing it in her cunt?” He nudges Satoru’s lips then glides his cock deep into Satoru’s soft, warm wet mouth.

You can't string the words together, “Nnn fuck! Gonna! Nn! It feels!” Your soft cunt is squirting thick clear cum, writhing in the blue ribbon, your thighs trembling, your loud moans feeling the room.

You whine, “Too much! Wanna cum! Too muuuch!" Thick tears trickle down your face, and your cunt is dripping, adding to the puddle.

Satoru grabs Suguru’s thighs, digging his nails in. Suguru lets up, gliding his cock out and giving Satoru a moment to breathe.

Suguru remarks, “Our beautiful princess is obliterated n’ so fuckin’ wet. It’s been two hours! You’re so mean to her but fuck this is the best birthday gift y'all could have given me.” Suguru holds Satoru’s head still, his thick cock in Satoru’s throat, his nose touching Suguru’s short dark hair.

Slowly Suguru glides his cock out of Satoru’s mouth. Spit drips down Satoru’s chin, tears trickling down his face. “Crying from choking on my cock this easily? You’re such a pretty mess.” He smacks Satoru’s cheek with his heavy cock.

Satoru grabs his cock and trails soft kisses along him. He looks up at him with bright blue eyes. “Says the one getting off on it. Isn't that right daddy? You always like makin' me cry, make me beg to cum while my cock is drooling pre-cum.” Satoru quickly glides Suguru into his throat, gagging.

Suguru groans, tightening his grasp on Satoru’s hair. Keeping Satoru’s head still Suguru decides, “You less annoying with my dick in your throat.”

You cry, “Fuck!” The toy on your clit is becoming too much. You rub your thighs together; do nothing to move the vibrator off your clit. “Please! Please! Please!” Suguru glides his cock out of Satoru’s throat and steps around him. Leaving him on his knees trying to steady his breath.

Suguru turns off the toy, giving you instant relief and frustration. “Wanna be touched. Please! Wanna cum! But I'm tired of the toy!” Suguru gently takes the tape off, and you tense up, wincing from the soft stinging.

He tosses the toy onto the nearby bed. Then looks down at you, the admiration in his eyes has you feeling beautiful and desirable. “Poor sweet, beautiful mama. he gave you a lot didn't he, left you tied up in our sex room and made me think you left early.” He kisses your sensitive, puffy clit. You can feel your pulse in your clit. Going from the intense stimulation to no at all is unbearable.

Suguru grabs your thigh, holding it up, gliding one thick, long finger into you, softly pressing his thumb on your throbbing clit. You tense up, the pleasure is boarding on pain. He croons, “So sore and sensitive, the sudden lack of stimulation must be unbearable." He keeps his finger and thumb still.

You moan, "It is! Your hand feels wonderful, I love it when you touch me." His hands are slightly rougher and bigger than Satoru's.

Suguru wonders, "Are you sure you want more? I can take you down, clean you up, cuddle you close. keep my hand on your cunt. We can possibly let Satoru cuddle us." Satoru turns around on his knees and grabs Suguru’s hips then bites his ass.

Suguru jolts, his knees momentarily buckling before regaining the strength. He reaches back and grabs Satoru’s hair, “Damn brat.” He pulls Satoru off of his ass, pulling him up to his side. Causing Satoru to quickly move on his knees.

Suguru glares at Satoru who proudly smiles up at him. He wraps his hand around Suguru's cock slowly pumping his fist. "Do you want Suguru's fat cock in you?" Suguru lets go of Satoru's hair.

Satoru leans in and licks your dripping wet hole. You groan, "Fuck me please do what you want." You wrap your leg around Suguru's waist pulling him closer. Suguru stops you from closing the space completely. Gliding in another finger stretching you out.

Satoru pulls away, then sucks on Suguru's balls. Suguru groans, "He's such a fuckin' whore, now he can bother you more and me a little less. Welcome to the gojo problem."

Satoru pulls away from Suguru's balls and exclaims, "Hey I'm a delight."

"Sometimes."

"Occasionally a menace but you're our menace. It can be charming."

Suguru kisses your forehead then warns, "You're encouraging him."

Satoru stands up and wraps his arms around Suguru’s waist. Resting his head on Suguru’s broad shoulder. "She's right, you love it about me." Suguru's hips lightly buck when Satoru traces along his v-line.

Satoru insists to you, "Tell him sweetheart."

You wonder, “Like this?! Why not after?”

"Why not now?"

Suguru softly cups face. “You’re incredible mama, the color of your nipples, your soft clit, your wet lips.” He leans in, “Tell me princess.”

Your body flushes with a different type of heat. You look away from Suguru's intense gaze, “It’s stupid!” Tilting your head back groaning when Suguru's fingers graze that sweet spot that consumes you with sweet pleasure.

Satoru croons, “Aw you're sexy getting embarrassed while tied up."

Suguru pumps his fingers faster, lightly swiping your clit with his thumb. He gently kisses your cheek, urging you, "Close your eyes and say it beautiful."

You close your eyes and blurt out, “I'm not dating either of you so how can I be in love with you?" Suguru softly kisses you, gliding another finger in. Stretching out and loosening your soft cunt with his thick fingers. Your soft cunt squelches as he fucks three thick fingers into you.

Satoru pulls away from Suguru, moving behind you. Softly squeezes your ass before slapping both cheeks twice. He brings up, "It’s not like you don't already live here, it’s not like we message you good morning and goodnight when you do stay at your place.” He softly plays with your nipples, lightly squeezing, pulling, and massaging between two fingers.

Suguru adds, “Taking you on our dates, putting you in the middle. It chases off anyone that wants to flirt with you, we’ve been so damn obvious." He flicks, pinches, and twists your soft nipples.

You cry into Suguru's sweet, soft kiss. Suguru focuses on your sweet spot. Your soft cunt clenches his thick fingers. You're so close, getting off on the sweet pain as much as the overwhelming pleasure.

Satoru eases up, taunting you, "Aw how badly did that hurt?" He softly massages your aching nipples. Pressing his hard cock against your back, slowly rutting his hips. His pre-cum is smearing on your back, soaking into the silk wrapping around your waist.

Suguru glides his fingers out, smearing your slick on his thick cock. Then lines himself up with your soft cunt, lightly nudging his thick cockhead into you. "Fuck your soft cunt looks so beautiful love seeing the way she stretches to take my fat cock."

You moan and tug Suguru forward with your thigh gliding more of his cock into you. Suguru bottoms out and grinds his cock on your cunt, your soft cunt rubbing the soft ridge of his cockhead.

You whine, "Please!" Suguru slowly sinks his cock into you. Watching every inch glide inside your soft lips rubbing his cock. Satoru gets on his knees, groaning as he licks your hole stretching around Suguru's cock.

He kisses Suguru's balls and bites his thighs. Causing Suguru to roughly thrust in you. You whine, "Nnn fuuuck me." Suguru slowly fucks your squelching, warm cunt. His balls hit Satoru's face as he loudly groans. His warm tongue is soft on your cunt and Suguru's cock.

Suguru softly wraps his hand around your throat. "I thought we were too obvious. We haven't gone a single day without seeing you in the past year that we have met you." Satoru bites your ass, slapping your other cheek.

You cry and try to twist your hips away from Satoru. Who moves out from underneath you when he lets go. He grabs your hips and fucks you on Suguru's cock, making you meet Suguru's slow hard thrust faster.

You sheepishly moan, “I thought! Nnn I thought! Both of you were being really friendly.” Satoru rolls his eyes, letting you go and stepping away. His attention shifts to the wine in a bucket of ice.

Suguru lets your throat go, letting him grab your hips. Keeping his rough, hard pace steady. His face looks so beautiful when he is chasing his own pleasure with your cunt.

His soft brown eyes are fiery with an intense passion. His cheek flushing a soft pink, his mouth forming an o.

Satoru rolls his eyes, “Suguru might look sweet, but he is an asshole look at him! He barely tolerates anyone." He pops the wooden top off making Suguru and you jump.

Suguru with his cock in you snaps at Satoru, “I don't want to hear it from the sadistic dick that left her drugged and tied up with a vibrator.” He flips Satoru off who comes over, pouring some of the wine onto your tits soaking you.

Satoru defenses himself with, “I checked up on her when I was going to the bathroom.” He takes a swing then grabs your hair, yanking your head back and kissing you roughly. You part your lips and cool wine trickles in, forcing you to roughly swallow.

Suguru dips his head and licks the wine dripping down your chest. Slowly rolling his hips gliding his cock into you. Satoru pulls away and walks behind you, keeping his grasp on your hair firm.

He tilts the bottle pouring wine. You have to close your eyes and open your mouth Some of it trickles down your chin and neck. Suguru licks it up, wrapping his muscular arm around your waist.

The wine run dry, Satoru slaps your ass and lets your hair go. He walks away with the bottle setting it down on the closest surface.

Suguru groans “You’re so fucking wet, so soft n’ warm, love feeling your soft cunt squeezing my hard cock.” Fucking his thick, veiny cocky into you harder, faster, groaning when your cunt clenched him.

You loudly cry, “Daddy! Harder! Please! Fuck! Right there! Please wanna cum, please.” Suguru cock head is stroke that sweet spot. The pleasure is overwhelming, sweet and addicting making it hard to think.

Satoru comes back cock in hand waiting for Suguru to slow down and move his arm so he can line himself up.

You whine when Suguru stops and Satoru croons, “Don't worry your daddies are gonna help you cum, fill you full of cum, then cuddle you close after we clean you up.” Suguru bites your neck causing you to cry.

Satoru groans gliding his thinner but longer cock in, touching your cervix. The gentle burning ache fades with each of their unevenly thrusts, become toe curling pleasure, you’re so full of their thick, warm cocks.

Their cocks are rubbing together inside of you. Fondling your soft body with their large hands unable to get enough of how you feel. The sweet high makes your pleasure mind-numbing, body-tingling and intense.

It’s like you can't stop cumming. Your cunt is squelching, quivering and dripping wet.

Suguru groans, “You’re our’s! Need to hear you say it princess.” He slips his hand in between swiping your clit with his thumb, watching your cunt. “It’s so fucking sexy that your soft cunt can take both of us. Nnn Satoru’s is longer so my head keeps rubbing right beneath his.”

Satoru moans "It’s pushing me against her cervix, it’s like I might slip through, get deep in her guts.” Fucking you harder, you tense up, your toes curling jaw crying and eyes burning with tears from the sweet pain.

Satoru insists, “Tell our Daddy what he wants to hear, make this the best birthday we could give him." But the words are barely registering with you.

Fat tears trickle down your face. You cry, "Mine! Fuck! Miiiinnnnn! Daddy! Wanna!!”

Satoru breathy chuckle becomes a loud groan. He smirks at Suguru, "Hear that we are her new boyfriends and eventual baby daddies. I wonder if our cum mixes together in her does the dna-" Suguru chokes Satoru, who grabs your other thigh keeping it up, helping them bully your soft cunt with their cocks.

“I love you but shut up.” He pulls him in for a kiss. Your smaller body in between their large, hard muscular chest. You bite Suguru's thick pec as they make out over your head. He groans into Satoru's mouth.

Suguru's veins pulse warm thick cum spurts from his thick cock. He tightens his grasp on your thigh and you let his pec go. Satoru and Suguru break away, Suguru whines, biting his trembling body lip, his big muscular body quivering.

Suguru whines, "Fuck it's too much!" He goes to pull out when Satoru lets your thigh go. You wrap your leg around his waist. Satoru grabs a handful of Suguru's hair.

Satoru slips his hands between squeezing one of Suguru's tits along with pinching your nipple. "Don't pull out yet, wanna keep feeling rubbing our cocks together inside her soft warm soaking wet cunt." He looks down at your face, taking in your cock drunk expression as you rest your head on his chest.

"I can't believe you're our's to hold close, to fuck, to kiss, to say I fuckin' love you too." Satoru leans down for a soft kiss, contrasting his sloppy, rough pace. Suguru's legs are becoming wobbly, the pleasure becoming too much for him.

Suguru hunches over and bites your neck. Grabbing your hip, his thick fingers sinking into your soft hip's crease. He's trying to manage how good it feels to have your soft cunt squeezing him against Satoru's hard cock.

Suguru begs, "Fuck please cum Satoru." Satoru lets your sore nipple go, pulling Suguru in close crushing you with Suguru's chest.

He demands, "Wanna hear you both call me daddy."

"Please cum daddy!" Overlaps with,

"Wanna feel you cum daddy!" Satoru cum is thicker, tricking out of his cock when he's only half in you. He roughly stuff his cock in deeper, grinding his hips, rubbing his cockhead against your cervix. Pushing his cum in deeper with Suguru's.

"Happy birthday handsome." Suguru quickly bottoms out and stumbles over to the nearby bed where he collapses. Suguru stares up at the ceiling mirror, his chest rising and falling with deep breaths.

You slur, "Appybirrday!" Suguru dryly chuckles, sitting up slowly. Admiring your tired, tied up the body with Satoru's cock in your soft cunt.

He softly smiles. "Both of you are beautiful." He stands up as Satoru slowly pulls his cock out. Together they carefully untie you, softly scattering kisses on your thighs, stomach, tits, ass, and cunt.

Satoru cradles your soft body to his chest, he kisses your forehead. Suguru kisses your cheek, "Let's get clean and fall asleep cuddling. I want her soft cheeks on my cock while I fall asleep." Suguru dips his thick fingers into your soft cunt scooping out a mix of cum which he stuffs into Satoru’s mouth.

He groans “Fuck that tastes so good.” Following Suguru to the bedroom. Where Suguru gets the shower started and Satoru sets you down on the toilet to use it.

When you try to stand your legs quickly give before you can even fully make get on your feet. Satoru grabs his hips, and croons, "Aw can't walk princess?" He bends over, holding his finger up next to his face. "Whose help do you need?" He softly taps the tip of your nose.

"Please carry me around and help me get cleaned up."

Satoru wiggles his finger, "No I wanna hear you say we are yours again." Suguru nudges him to the side and picks you up.

He insists to Satoru, "Stop holding her hostage." He sticks his bottom lip out in a pout. Following Suguru and You into the large shower. Where Suguru holds you to him underneath the warm shower.

Satoru wraps his arm around both of you. He whines, "You're no fun! I just wanna tease our princess a little."

Oreo’s m.list

[ofstarsandvibranium]

3 Types of Neck Kisses

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Summary: Here are the 3 different ways Bucky kisses your neck.

Warning: light smut - fingering and p in v

Lovingly

It's late and you don't want to fall asleep. You just want to enjoy this moment with Bucky. Now with him campaigning to be the next Congressman, he's hardly home. You don't see him much and miss him like crazy, but you can't fault him for this.

You're cuddled up into Bucky now. The tv in your shared bedroom plays on low volume. He face is nuzzled into your neck and you feel his breath on your skin. Your arms are wrapped around him, fingers running through his hair that has him purring like Alpine.

His own arms are wrapped around you as well. He tightens his hold on you, pulling you even closer to him. He presses kisses onto your neck and mumbles, "Love you, baby," as he peppers more kisses along your neck.

You let out a content sigh and mumble back, "I love you too, Bucky."

Sexily

You didn't let him have his way with you when you stepped out of the bedroom earlier. The dress you picked out for tonight's charity event clung to you in delicious ways, yet still created a classy aura around you.

You couldn't help but snicker as Bucky's eyes raked down your body, "Down boy. We're going to be late and this is your event."

He pouted, "Baby-"

You shook your head, "Nope. Besides, I spent all this time to look pretty, I don't want it to go to waste. Now let's go."

Now, it's well into the night. Bucky's already said his piece, thanking all of the sponsors, donations, and attendees for the night. Then the dancefloor opened up, more drinks started flowing, which meant no one would notice Bucky dragging you to the nearest unoccupied room.

As soon as you enter the room, Bucky shuts the door, locking it behind him. He presses you against the door, hiking up your dress, "Been teasing me all night in this fucking dress," he presses a desperate kiss to your lips and groans when he realizes, "Fuck, no panties either?"

"Surprise," you reply with a smirk and the man moans into your neck. He kisses and nips into your skin as he wraps your leg around his waist. His metal fingers rub at your clit.

You grip at the lapels of his suit jacket, "Buck-"

"Just wanna make sure you're ready for me, baby. Been trying to hide this hard on for hours," he murmurs into your skin.

"Been dripping for you since we got here."

"Naughty girl," he says as he bites into your neck and slowly enters you. You gasp at he fills you and do your best to keep quiet while he fucks you.

Comforting

The assassination attempt wasn't expected. He thought that after everything he's done, even being a close friend to both Captain America's, people's view of him would be better.

Obviously he was wrong.

Being shot at was nothing new to him, but you? It was foreign territory. You've never been a part of that side of Bucky's life. You never had to fight aliens or enhanced individuals. You were a complete civilian, so of course you'd take this a lot harder than him.

Bucky hated it.

Now you were plagued with nightmares of him being shot and it broke his heart whenever he woke to you whimpering in your sleep, crying for him.

"No, no, please," Bucky hears you say as he stirs from his slumber, "Bucky, no," he hears again.

He scoops you into his arms, "Darlin', I'm here. I'm here, baby. It's okay," he whispers, wiping your tears away with his vibranium arm.

Your face scrunches and then your eyes blink open. Eyes red and watery, you rasp out, "Bucky?"

"You were having another nightmare, sweetheart."

You groan, rolling away from him, wanting to hide, "I'm sorry."

He pulls you close, spooning you from behind, "Don't be. I'm sorry you had to witness that. I'm used to being shot at, but you-I wish you never witnessed that." He leans in, kissing the back of your neck, "But I'm here, sweetheart. I'm safe." he tightens his hold on you.

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Don't ever be sorry for this." He kisses your neck again, "I love you, I'm here. I'm here, baby. I'm safe."

He continues to repeat these words to you, while kissing your neck, reminding you that your nightmares are just that, nightmares.

[shawtuzi]

ᡣ𐭩ྀིྀི₊ ⊹cw include: plug!geto, drug usage (weed), pussyjob, some sloppy kissing, geto cums on her pussy <3

“spread em.”

you took a hit of the blunt you were holding, blowing the smoke in suguru’s face as you slowly spread your legs. suguru let out a deep exhale through his nose, his nostrils flaring when he saw the outline of your pussy over your panties. his dick twitched in his sweats when you pulled your panties to the side, strings of wetness clinging to the cotton fabric as you did so.

“she’s so pretty,” he hummed, his low, red eyes practically forming hearts at just how breath taking your cunt really was. you mumbled out a quiet ‘thank you’, your thighs closing together the tiniest bit in shyness. suguru chuckled, now pulling his sweats down his thighs until his dick sprung free, the angry red tip leaking translucent pearls of pre.

you let out a tiny gasp when your felt him begin to slap the tip against your clit, a dewy wet sound echoing throughout the room. suguru nibbled on his bottom lip, eyes fluttering shut when he finally slipped his dick between the oh so soft, stickiness of your folds. each time his tip bumped against your clit you let out a tiny ‘ah!’ which only made him lose his composure even more. “mmph you’re so soft baby—fuck, and so wet. you hear that?”

you were in a trance, teeth latched onto your bottom lip as you took in the man before you. it wasn’t until you heard suguru whimper that you were snapped out of you trance like state. “y-you can slip it in if you want sugu,” you set the blunt aside, your hand now reaching down to help geto put his dick in but my mans was very quick to stop you. “nah nah don’t—this shit feels so fuckin’ good, you feel good baby?” you didn’t even have time to answer, suguru’s tongue invading your mouth the second your lips parted.

maybe it was the two and a half blunts you both smoked back to back but sugu just couldn’t fathom that you were real. so perfect in every way it made his head spin and his chest tight. “s’good sugu,” you sighed dreamily against his lips, your manicured fingers touching every inch of his toned body. suguru’s abs clenched when he felt your nails trail down his thighs—his thighs were always so sensitive.

sugu pulled your panties to the side, a glob of spit falling from his lips, right onto your sensitive clit. he circled the tip around your clit, giving it a few more taps before enveloping himself once more in the sweet warmth that was you. “m’gonna cum already f-fuck, pull em to the side for me one more time baby,” you wasted no time yanking your panties to the side, allowing suguru to cover your pussy in his milky white essence.

his breathing was heavy as he examined his work, his dick already getting hard at the sight of your ruined panties. suguru’s tongue swiped against his bottom lip as he scooped some of his cum on his fingers, quickly bringing the digits to your mouth for you to suck on. you parted your lips, a moan bubbling in your throat as you sucked on geto’s fingers.

it happened so suddenly—one minute you were happily drooling over suguru’s fingers, the next your breath was practically knocked out of your lungs as geto fully sheathed himself inside your pussy, a drawn out moan slipping past his swollen lips. “that was fun,” he grunted, tatted hands gripping onto the backs of your thighs to push them damn near to your ears. he pressed his forehead against yours, his large body pushing impossibly close against yours.

“but nothing—and i mean nothing will compare to this. ain’t that right princess?” his hips slowly rolled into yours, his pelvis now rubbing deliciously against your clit. you didn’t respond, well, more like couldn’t respond but the fucked out look in your bloodshot eyes was more than enough for your sugu.

[obsesssedblerd]

Part Four (2): “I promise, I’ll make this right.” 

- the jjk men promising to be a better partner for you after they forget your anniversary. 

final [second] written part of this smau series. 

Pt. 2: Choso, Shiu, and Gojo

Contains: angst to comfort 

a/n: and here’s the last, last part with the remaining characters! again, thank you so much for being so patient! <3 once again, sorry for any mistakes! 

---

CHOSO 

Truthfully, you didn’t know if you were actually ready to confront Choso, but you know that it’s time. You stand in front of the door to his house, and knock. You wait for less than a minute, then the door opens to reveal Yuuji on the other side, rubbing his tired eyes. His pink hair was messy, so you know that he woke up from a nap not too long ago. 

When he registers that it’s you, he gasps loudly, then holds up a hand and smiles nervously. “H-Hi! Um, wait just a minute, I’ll grab him! Please don’t leave this spot.” 

“I won’t leave, Yuuji.” 

His smile falters a bit. “No, seriously, please don’t. Me, Cho, and Megumi couldn’t find you for days.”

You place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “I promise,” you say slowly, “I won’t leave.” 

“Good. Be right back.” He gives you a thumbs up, closes the door, and you hear him scream from behind it, “Choso!! CHOSO!!! She’s outside, so stop blasting your sad music and get down these damn stairs!! No, I’m not kidding, why would I do that?!” 

You blink in shock, then Yuuji opens the door once more to smile sweetly at you. “He’ll be out in just a moment.” 

“Uh- Alright, thanks.” 

Not too long after, Choso appears. You can immediately tell that he hasn’t been sleeping much the last few days. Other than that, he looks relieved to see you there. He reaches towards you to hug you, then stops himself, remembering the situation. “Hi,” he quietly greets. 

“Hi. Walk with me?” He nods, and you two walk side-by-side to a nearby park. You let the silence drag for only a few minutes before you ask him the question that’s been weighing on you for the last couple of days. 

“Be honest. Before we got together, did you want to date Yuki at one point?” 

Are you only with me because you weren’t able to get with her? 

Choso stops in his tracks, and looks over at you, eyes blown wide with shock. “No. Never. We’re just friends, like I’ve told you before. I know it seems like-” 

You hold up a hand. “Cho, please just understand where I’m coming from. The-” 

“I do understand,” he says desperately, taking a step closer to you. “Of course I do. That's all I’ve been thinking about. I chose to hang out with her instead of you, numerous times. It’s unfair to you, I know, but I swear-”

“I feel like you love her.” Your biggest fear of your relationship flies out your mouth, and tears rush to your eyes, spilling down your cheeks. “Every single time, it’s her. It feels like it won’t matter how special something is—like our anniversary—because you’ll run to her the second she asks you to hang out and completely forget about me.” You take a breath and exhale slowly, trying not to make yourself look even more pathetic. “I’m tired, Cho.” 

“Listen to me. I do not love Yuki,” Choso says slowly. “Not now, not in secret, not ever. I am in love with you. You’re the one I want to wake up next to every morning, you’re the only one I trust when it comes to helping my siblings, and you’re the one I want to spend the rest of my life with.” He scoops your hand into his. “There’s no way in hell that I would choose her or any other woman over you, so I’m begging you, please get that out of your head.”

Before you can use a sleeve to wipe your tears, he wipes them for you, then uses his hand to cup your cheek. “I’m so sorry for hurting you. You spent so long planning the dinner for our anniversary and I completely forgot about it like it was nothing. I wish I could go back in time, but I can’t. All I can do is beg for another chance to be a better boyfriend. So, please, let me have another chance.”

You notice that his eyes are also watery. You’re about to point it out, but he hugs you tightly before you can, his body slightly trembling. “These last few days have been killing me, because I’ve messed up so bad to the point where you think I’m in love with another woman, when you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my  life. I don’t want anyone but you. I could never choose anyone over you. I don’t care who they are.” 

He rubs a comforting hand up and down your back. “Please,” he repeats once more. 

“Never again, Choso,” you mutter shakily. “I mean it.” 

He sighs in relief, then kisses you. “Thank you,” he whispers. “Walk back with me? I have your present back at the house. Then, we can plan another dinner, and something special after that.” 

---

SHIU

When you enter the hotel room, you see Shiu Kong there, leaning in the chair with a light, but nervous smile. “Hey, princess.” 

The door shuts, and you furrow your brows in confusion. “How the fuck did you get in here?” 

“Well, you weren’t answering your phone anymore, so I found a different way to track you.”

Your brain whirrs with multiple possible scenarios, then you roll your eyes when you figure it out. “You asked Toji, didn’t you?” Your work partner was the only one who knew your location.

“I had to blackmail him in order to find out where you were. It wasn’t easy.” 

You give him a fake smile. “Well, I don’t really care about that. You should leave.” 

“No.” 

“Shiu. Don’t piss me off,” you warn. “Go.”

“Not until we talk.” 

You cross your arms. “It’s either you leave, or I will handle you the same way I’d handle any person that comes into my room without my knowledge or permission.”

Shiu holds his hands up. “I’ll let you shoot me after I apologize.” 

“You’ve already apologized plenty over text. I already told you that I’m done. I’m better off focusing on work, and you’re better off just hanging out with your friends.” 

“Can you stop saying that shit? Baby, please, I swear that missing our anniversary dinner was a horrible mistake, and I’ll never make it again if you give me another chance.” When you don’t answer, he sighs desperately, taking a chance with his life and walking over to where you’re standing. “I’m sorry, princess. I completely understand why you’re pissed, and like I said, I’d let you shoot me if it’ll make you feel better. However, I will say that I can’t let you go. I love you.” 

You shut your eyes and shake your head. “Look, that’s sweet and all, but I don’t think you understand how awful it is knowing that your boyfriend chose a random night of drinking with his friends over a romantic dinner that you spent weeks planning. It makes it hard to believe that you even like me, let alone love me.” 

“I understand why you’re doubting my feelings for you. Anyone would after their lover forgets their anniversary. But I promise, I do love you, and if you give me another chance, I’ll show you. I’ll make you feel it. Please give me a chance to fix this.” 

“...But what if you don’t?” 

“Then I’ll let you kill me, like you’ve killed your other boyfriend after he fucked up and broke your heart.” When you raise your brow in question, he answers you, “Toji told me about that when he warned me to leave you alone earlier. Not taking his side at all. Heard he was an asshole, anyway. But, I’m serious. If I don’t do better, and I hurt you again, I won’t run or fight back when you come to kill me.” 

“Shiu, I don’t want to kill you,” you say, slightly frustrated. “I just want you to care more.” 

His thumb brushes underneath your eyes. You didn’t even know that you started crying. “I know, princess, ‘m so sorry. I promise, I’ll never make you cry again, and I’ll be better.” He’s relieved when you allow him to hug you. “Come home, okay? We’ll talk more there, and then I’ll start making this up to you.”

You nod, then rest your head on his shoulder. “You do know that Toji’s more than likely going to kick your ass for blackmailing him, right?” 

“You’re in my arms again, so it was worth it.”

---

GOJO

You’re speeding through the hallways of Jujutsu Tech, your heartbeat thundering in your ears. An hour ago, you got a text from Maki, your precious second-year student, telling you that something bad happened and that you need to come to the school quickly. 

“Maki, I’m here! Are you okay?!” You shout as you burst into the empty classroom. You find her, and you tilt your head in confusion. 

She looks fine. In fact, she’s standing next to a Yuuta Okkotsu, who looks like he’s about to vomit. “S-Sensei! I-” 

Maki cuts him off with her usual, sharp glare. “Not. A. Word.”

Inumaki and Panda are also there, and across the room, the three first years are standing stiffly. 

Something’s up. 

“Okay,” you say to the students as you cross your arms. “What on earth is going on?” 

Nobara looks over at Yuuji, who’s sweating nervously, and raises a brow. “Um… Haha,” he laughs, scratching the back of his head. “Don’t look at me like that, Kugisaki. H-He should be here any second, I swear!” 

He? 

Suddenly, Satoru Gojo teleports in. “What’s going on?” He asks as he looks over at the students. “I didn’t see a threat outside of the school. Yuuji said something bad happened?” 

“Great!” Nobara claps her hands together. “You’re both here!” 

Satoru goes quiet, and you raise an eyebrow. “Uh, yeah?” 

Maki points to you and Satoru. “You two need to talk.” 

“...Sorry?” 

“You two need to talk!” Nobara repeats Maki’s words. “Listen, we can’t stand having our two favorite teachers separated like this. [Y/L/N]-sensei has been gone for days!” 

“Plus, Gojo-sensei, you’ve been super stressed!” Yuuji shouts in defense. “Fushiguro says that you eat a lot more sweets when you’re stressed. You ate two packs of those mini cupcakes, plus the brownie that Nanamin gave me!” 

When Satoru looks over at Yuuta, he throws his hands up. “No, no, please don’t look at me like that! I voted against this! I said that w-we should probably give you two some space to figure it-” Inumaki slaps a hand over his mouth. 

“We’re just… worried,” Megumi mumbles. 

“Yup!” Panda shouts. “Very worried, and that’s why we came up with a plan to get you two back on track. We’re going to lock you two in this room, and you’re not coming out until you’re happy and in love again!” 

“Because you two are supposed to be together forever and get married and invite us to the wedding!” Yuuji pouts, and the rest of the students voice their agreements. 

You can’t believe it. They set you up. Your mouth falls open in shock, and the students all walk outside of the classroom. Maki and Nobara are the last ones out, and they both glare at Satoru. “Geto-sensei said that you missed your anniversary dinner,” Nobara hisses. “You better give her the most amazing, romantic and extravagant dinner after this, or we will deal with you!” 

Behind Nobara, Yuuta chuckles nervously. “...Pretty sure that you won’t be able to get past his infinity-” 

“Shut up, Okkotsu!” The rest of the students shout, then the door shuts and locks with a loud click. You drag a hand down your face, then scoff. Great.

“Wow, they’re really something,” Satoru chuckles, but when you don’t say anything, he turns to face you, his expression serious, even with his usual blindfold on. “Say the word, and I’ll teleport you out of here. Then, I’ll talk to them.” 

“No, it’s okay,” you say quietly as you sit in one of the empty chairs. “We can talk.” 

As you look around the classroom, a few memories from the year before came back. “Wait, this is the classroom where we met, isn’t it?” 

“Looks like it,” Satoru says as he leans against the wall, smiling softly. “Zen’in, Panda, Inumaki, and Okkotsu were first years. You were standing right here. Your first day as a transfer, and you were already teaching these kids as professionals.” 

“Yeah.” You stifle a laugh. “You stayed for the entire lesson, even though you had a meeting with the higher-ups. Suguru and Yaga had to practically drag you out of here so you wouldn’t spend another hour flirting.” 

“They were pissed, but it was worth it. Our newest team member is just so pretty,” he says, then reaches for your hand, your thumb lovingly brushing against yours as his voice dips lower. “The most beautiful woman that my six eyes have ever seen.” 

It’s a nice memory, but when you remember everything else, your smile falters. Satoru sighs, “I’m so sorry, pretty girl. Not just forgetting the annivesary dinner that you planned, but also for leaving you hanging. I don’t blame you for disappearing for a few days. If I were in your shoes, I would’ve been upset, too. I really don’t have an excuse. That was just… wrong.” 

“I appreciate that, Toru, but… are you sure that this even works? All of the chasing, the begging to spend just a few hours together, it’s draining. I know you’re the strongest sorcerer-” 

“You matter more than that,” he says firmly. “So much more than that. If it came down to choosing between you or being the strongest, I’m choosing you in an instant. I meant it when I said that I’d let Toji Fushiguro kill me again before letting you go.” You wince when you remember the gruesome details of that story, but don’t interrupt. “I made a horrible mistake by forgetting that date. I can’t imagine how awful it was sitting at the restaurant all alone. I’m so sorry. I don’t care how long it’ll take to make this up, I’ll prove that you mean the world to me.” 

You consider his words. While you’re still a bit hurt about being forgotten, you miss your boyfriend, and you do believe that he’ll make it up to you, despite you being a bit hesitant. “One more chance, Satoru,” you tell him. “Don’t ever do this to me again.” 

“I won’t. I promise,” he says, lifting his blindfold to reveal the gorgeous, cerulean eyes that you love so much. “You won’t regret this.” When you reach for him, he lowers his infinity fully to let you hug him, a long exhale leaving your body when you’re suddenly wrapped in his arms and his scent. “I missed you,” he whispers to you. “I was so worried. I couldn’t find you.”

“Didn’t mean to worry you.” 

He kisses your cheek, then pulls away from you. “Okay, time to go.” 

“Go where?” 

Satoru chuckles. “I owe you an amazing, romantic, and extravagant dinner, otherwise my students will find a way to kill me. Plus, we’re going to be disappearing for a while. I got a trip planned. Flight leaves early in the morning.”

You gasp. “What?! But what about work? Or the students? Or the-” 

He interrupts you with a feather-light kiss against your lips. “All taken care of, pretty girl,” he purrs. “Just let me make this up to you, okay?” 

“Alright, but first you need to apologize to the students for wreaking havoc while you were stressed, and buy Yuuji a new brownie.” 

[sanguineterrain]

Kurt wagner and tail stuff!!! I love that boy! I love how you write! I love the tail! Smashing them together we got a a little piece of heaven! So Kurt wagner with s/o and some tail action pretty please!!

(Like if you need some more then that: for example, the times before they were together Kurt’s tail always seemed to gravitate towards reader (I’m an advocate that Kurt’s tail is like a fricking mood ring) wrapping around them, touching them. The times when they were together! And the time reader wraps their hand or something around his tail or something)

Love your writing! You’re awesome and amazing! And I want to say in advance, thank you so so much for doing this ask! I will treasure it dearly! And if you don’t do the ask then thank you so so much to taking the time to read it! Have a lovely day!

ouuu this is a sweet request <3 tail boy! thanks nonnie :) hopefully I did him justice 🫶 changed the request a bit but kept the same idea about the tail. may write a part 2... we'll see!

kurt wagner (nightcrawler) x gn!reader. fluff, cooking, gambit and rogue trying to talk some sense into the reader.

note: I tried to capture kurt and gambit's accents. however, as always, I'm open to feedback on them. It's definitely not my intention to offend or miswrite anyone!

****

The smell of bubbling cheese wafts from your pot as you stir. It's been a while since you were able to cook for yourself and have a nice meal, always running out to do something or another for the good of the planet.

"Smells good," comes a familiar voice. A moment later, a tail curls around your wrist as you shake some paprika into the pot.

You look away from your stirring into golden, irisless eyes. Kurt grins at you.

"Mac 'n cheese," you say by way of greeting. "Want some?"

"Please und thank you."

Anytime you cook, you offer Kurt to share. You frequently have the thought that you spoil the hell out of him, but you can't help it.

He helps you out by putting away the milk and cheese. But he's never far; his tail remains on you. It slackens from your wrist, then explores up your arm and around your elbow.

It's nothing new, of course. The first thing you learned about Kurt Wagner is how physically affectionate he is.

"That tail seems to have a mind of its own, elfie," you say, smiling down at the pot.

"What do you mean?"

"It's always holding onto me." You turn off the burner.

"Ah." Kurt drops his tail. "My apologies. I can ease up, as you say."

You shake your head. "Don't. I don't mind. Never have."

So Kurt gives you one final tail squeeze. The fur on his arm tickles you as he brushes past. You watch him in confusion.

"Where are you going?" you ask, halfway through scooping two servings of the pasta.

"Not far," he says brightly. "Jean wanted me to bring spoons from the kitchen." He holds up three metal spoons with his tail.

"Spoons?"

He shrugs. "An experiment. Who am I to question a scientist's whim? I promise I will be fast."

He teleports away, and you have a mind to cover Kurt's bowl with a plate. You bring both bowls to the table. At last, a proper meal.

You don't mind eating alone, but that hardly ever happens with Kurt around. Even if he's just eaten, he'll nibble on whatever you've made. You don't know where he puts all that food—perhaps in another dimension—but he makes it a point to eat with you, regardless of whether you've cooked or not. Even if you're in the middle of the forest eating a tin of beans, Kurt will plant himself right next to you and keep you company.

He's a good friend. The best friend you've ever had, actually.

"Woo, smells good!"

Gambit comes in first, followed by Rogue, since the two are never seen apart anymore. Gambit, nosy that he is, makes a beeline to Kurt's covered bowl.

"And what's in here?" he asks, lifting the plate.

"That's Kurt's," you say. "You can get some from the pot."

"Mais, it's Kurt's, huh?" He glances at Rogue, who grins. "Hear that, chère? Not sure if I should take from the pot. Might take my head, too."

You squint as they share laughter. "What're you talking about?"

"Oh, nothin'," Rogue says sweetly, taking the seat diagonal to you. Gambit sits next to her.

Your frown deepens. "I didn't say you couldn't have some, G, I just—"

Gambit shakes his head. "Don't go worryin' 'bout that. I'm just teasin'. I think it's cute how you feed the furball."

"Excuse me, I feed myself first," you say, and shovel a forkful of pasta into your mouth.

You hate not being in the know. It happens frequently, being that you're not a mutant. You're here on a personal invitation from Charles due to your "technology skills."

Really, you'd been brought here to fix Cerebro. And after that, you'd sort of just... stayed at the school. Charles had offered you a room, Kurt had won your friendship (or, perhaps, you'd won his), and you'd never left.

"Well, what do you mean, anyway? So what if I feed Kurt," you say, unable to stand not knowing.

"Just seems like where you are, Kurt's never far," Rogue says, watching you eat.

"Yeah, so? He's my friend."

"Oh, un ami. Is that what we're callin' it?" Gambit asks, eyes gleaming with mirth.

"What else would you call it?"

They look at each other in that Siamese cats way. Often, you've had the thought that they can read each other's minds—no powers needed.

"You really don't know?" Rogue asks, voice softening.

"Know what?" you ask impatiently.

Gambit makes a quiet noise in his throat. "Y'all don't know. He's gone on you."

Your brows rise. "Kurt? Don't be silly, Remy."

"Oh, great. You're both in denial," Rogue says, rolling her eyes. "Haven't you noticed how touchy he is around ya? Always huggin' and clingin'."

"Kurt's like that with everybody," you say. "He's like that with Logan!"

"Mais, the tail, it never lies," Gambit says with all the wisdom of someone centuries older. "He don't go wrappin' that tail 'round anybody."

Rogue nods sagely. "True. And he's always puttin' that tail around you."

"But he's..." You put your fork down in frustration. "That's ridiculous. Kurt would've said—I mean, there would've been a sign. He would've told me. Kurt doesn't hide anything from me."

"This is new for him, honey," Rogue says. "He's never been in love for real. He's not gonna act rationally."

"Alors, look at it this way. La Raison parle, mais l'Amour chante. Hm? His body betray his words. It sings to you. Jus' like I sing to ma cherie."

He reaches to take Rogue's hand, eyes practically heart-shaped. Rogue lets him, smiling in that secret, shy way of hers whenever Gambit is sweet on her.

L'Amour...

"Kurt is not in love with me," you say. "End of story."

They both heave sighs.

"Just watch his tail," Rogue says. "Kurt can hide a lot, but he can't control how he—"

BAMF!

You flinch as Kurt teleports into the kitchen. He grins and waves, then bounces around the table to greet the others.

"I'm back!" he says. "I hope my mac did not get cold. Will you be eating with us?"

"No, that's okay," Rogue says, looking at you meaningfully behind Kurt's back. "Rain check. We've gotta go train."

Gambit winks at you. "See y'all."

They disappear quickly. Kurt turns to you, blissfully unaware of your newly formed nerves.

"I am sorry I was gone for so long," Kurt says, sitting down to his bowl. "Jean had some questions about my abilities. Apparently, she's trying to replicate them in a machine."

"That's okay," you say. "Rogue and G kept me company."

Kurt beams. "They are so good for that, yes?"

He shovels a mouthful of mac 'n cheese into his mouth and groans in appreciation. His tail instantly curls around your wrist.

"Amazing!" Kurt says. "Perhaps your special ability is your cooking, hm? I would believe it."

You laugh. "Danke, elfie."

"Bitte schön," he says, eyes lighting up at your German. He frequently informs everyone about how good your German is becoming, even though you hardly know ten phrases.

His tail begins to stroke your arm. You wonder if he's aware of it. If he knows how his tail betrays him.

But no, that's outrageous. And even if it was true, it's not like the feeling's mutual, right?

"Oh, and," Kurt says. "I got us tickets to that show you wanted to see. They're playing it at the theater downtown. We can go on Saturday, ja?"

"You... oh. Wow. I told you about that ages ago, Kurt. You remembered?"

"Why wouldn't I?" he says, tilting his head. Like it hadn't occurred to him to be anything less than thoughtful.

"No, I'm just—thank you. That's really nice of you."

Kurt beams. "I am excited to watch the green witch und her pink friend sing!"

He keeps eating, unaware of the way he's made your world tip on its axis. Because now you know.

You're in love with Kurt Wagner. And the feeling just might be mutual.

[luveline]

so i had this silly thought the other night while i was doing a mud mask of jack stumbling upon reader (could be bombshell r, hotchner r, or whoever u would like <3) doing a mud mask and not quite understanding what it is (although r tries to explain it to him), and later on jack’s teacher tells aaron that jack and/or his friends were trying to apply mud to their faces at recess to ‘help their skin’ 😭 so then r has to clarify that u can’t just put any mud on ur face haha and maybe she offers to get some face masks for her and jack (and maybe aaron?) to try together <3 i know this is a bit of a silly idea and it may be too specific so ofc no pressure at all if this doesn’t inspire u!! u write aaron (and jack!) so well and i love everything u put out jade thank u for sharing ur writing with us <333

-💫

“Y/N, what the heck are you doing?” 

You wrinkle your nose at him. “What kind of language is that, babe? What would your daddy say if he heard you saying that?” 

Jack doesn’t even pretend to act chastened. If there’s one thing Jack Hotchner knows about you, it’s that you’re wrapped around his little finger, forever and always. It’s all you can do to keep your arms to yourself as he crawls into bed next to you. 

“Is that cucumber?” 

“Want some?” you ask. 

Jack takes a piece of cucumber and munches on it with a wet snap. “Your face has mud on it.” 

“It does.” 

“Why?” 

You peek at him through one eye. “It apparently draws out the impurities in my face. I’m not sure how it happens, but it makes my skin feel really soft when I wash it off.” 

“Oh. But it’s mud.”

“Yeah, it is, I don’t know how it happens. Must be magic.” You love Jack’s little face. He’s cute. His hair is still blonde at the ends, last bits of summer clinging to him, a tan on his pert nose. “Would you wanna try it?” 

“How long does it have to be on?” 

“About ten minutes. Or before it dries. We wash it off with a face towel.” 

“Okay. But just a little bit.” 

“Sure, babe. You can tell me if it’s too much.” 

Jack sits in front of your lap. You unscrew the pot of clay mask and use the small spreader it comes with to scoop up the mask. Cold, you whisper, but Jack giggles anyways, startled at the feeling as you smooth it over his forehead, his cheeks, and his round chin. You use your fingertips to connect the sections, colour in his nose, and smooth it out. Jack lets his eyes close in little-kid bliss, like he might fall asleep. 

“Do you want the cucumbers on your eyes?” you ask. 

“For relaxing?”

“Yeah, they’re cold too.” 

He lays back on Aaron's side of the bed and you plop on his cucumbers. Fifteen minutes later you encourage him into the bathroom to wash it away, holding his chin, warm, clay-stained water running down his neck. He insists on returning the favour, which ends in you squeezing his cheeks to tell him you love him, which makes him fluster like his father at the receiving end of a good compliment. “I love you too,” he mumbles, looking down at the floor. 

“Feel how soft your cheek is,” you say. 

“I think you have to wash your face,” he says back. “Sorry.” 

It’s great. By the time Aaron’s home from work you’re both super soft and while you don’t offer any explanation, he seems to notice, lackadaisical finger against Jack's cheek prompting an inquisitive, “Jack, have you been in Y/N’s shower stuff again?” 

“No.” 

You and Jack decide to keep your relaxing afternoon a secret. You think nothing of it for a while. The next time you use your clay mask he’s sleeping at his Aunt Jess’, and Aaron asks why you’re smiling, so you tell a half truth and say you’re thinking of Jack, which makes Aaron so smiley he tries to kiss you despite the mud.

Another few days and you get Jack back, only to give him over to school. Evil school. You and Aaron go to work. It’s some time nearing 1PM when Aaron steps out of his office, buttoning his coat around his neck. 

“What’s wrong?” you ask over Emily’s head. 

Morgan copies your frown. 

“Hotch?” 

“Jack is in trouble at school. Apparently he got into a play-fight and everyone needs a change of clothes.” He gives you a look, as if to say, you gotta love him. And you really do. “I’ll be back before the end of lunch.”

“I can go?” you offer. 

“I’m already wearing my coat.” He leans over to kiss your cheek and bids you goodbye. 

You don’t see your partner again. When he fails to turn up after lunch, you figure he’s taken Jack home —Jack tends to get upset when bad stuff happens at school even if he was just having fun because of his astounding guilty conscience. Aaron texts you not long before you’re due to start worrying with a simple, Sorry, not going to make it back in today. Jack was a bit upset. 

Your boss isn’t there, so you take a session with your coworkers, standing up at your desk and clearing your throat. “Because my boss is my boyfriend and also not here, I’ve decided to bring my query to the court.” 

You wait. Your team looks at you expectantly. 

“Go ahead,” Derek says. 

“Jack was so upset at school that he had to go home. Do I, as his almost step mom and number one fan, have the group's permission to go home now so I can get him cookies from Ben’s?” 

“Aw, he was upset?” Emily says, frowning but also cooing. 

You hold your heart. “I know. He’s such a sweetheart. So, can I go?” 

“You want us to do your consultations?” Spencer asks. 

“No!” you say, tucking a stray curl behind Spencer’s ear and delighting in the way he shoves you away. He’s laughing as he does it, used to your affection. “You can if you want to, handsome, but I was just gonna finish it tonight on Aaron’s computer.”

“Just go,” Morgan says, rolling his eyes. 

“Family emergency,” Emily agrees. 

“Don’t really do my consults,” you tell Spencer, grinning when he waves you off. 

You make a pit stop at Ben’s for praline filled cookies and smile despite yourself the whole way home. You’re not worried about Jack, he has his dad, and it was only dirt, you’re just excited to see him and to ditch work and to maybe, maybe, lay your head in Aaron’s lap sometime soon. He strokes the skin behind your ear and leans down to kiss you whenever he feels like it, which means you can amass upwards of five kisses an hour. It’s elastic. 

“Babe?” you call, knocking open the door with a clatter. Shoes wait for you at the entryway. You leave your kitten heels by light up sketchers and dress shoes neatly lined. “Honey? Angel?” 

“Are you talking to me?” Aaron calls from the door of the kitchen, suddenly in view. 

“Am I in trouble?” you ask. 

Aaron checks his watch. “Oh, definitely.” 

“Personal paid time off?” 

“Sure. What’s in the bag?” 

“Oh, you know, just something special for the baby. Is he okay?” 

“He’s unhappy with me, truth be told.” 

“Why’s that?” 

Aaron holds your gaze. “Weirdly, I think you might have a better idea of the situation than I do.” 

You follow him back into the kitchen, confused and eager for an explanation. Jack’s at the door that leads to your backyard, sitting on the stoop, looking stroppy and tired and relieved to see you, which is nice. “Hey,” you say, “what’s with the frowny face, beautiful?” 

“Dad doesn’t believe me.” 

“Doesn’t believe you about what?” 

“Me and Adrian was putting mud on our faces at school because it makes us soft, like we did, but dad doesn’t think we did it.” 

“We did,” you say immediately, giving Aaron a soft, honest look, not mad at anyone and not sure where the confusion is coming from, “you’ve seen my masks, honey.” 

“Your clay mask is blue,” Aaron says. 

“Is not!” Jack says. “It’s red just like mud!” 

“Well, when me and Jack did a mask together a couple of weeks ago, it was the red one, but it was a new one. I usually use that blue one,” you say, relieved when Aaron begins to look amused rather than slightly annoyed. “It’s my fault, babe.” 

You turn to Jack. “Baby,” you say, trying your best to look serious and kind at once, “the clay mask we did together is called a mud mask, and it does have mud in it, but it’s not like the mud at school, okay? It’s probably not a good idea for you and Adrian to rub it on yourselves.” 

Jack crosses his arms in front of him, slouching. “Well, how was I s’posed to know that?” he asks, sounding about as angry as he ever gets, which isn’t much. 

Aaron sighs deeply. You’re sure you’re in for it, you’ve wasted half of everyone’s day now ‘cos you didn’t explain a simple concept, but then he says, “You love to exclude me, the both of you.” 

“What?” you ask, gasping through a laugh. 

“Doing things together and not telling me!” he insists. “If you’d let me join in, I wouldn’t have upset Jack today because I’d know why he was playing in the mud.” 

You hold his gaze, refusing to break as his smile grows and grows despite the effort he pulls into staying straight. 

“So I’m not in trouble?” Jack asks. 

Aaron smiles. “Don’t think so, Jackers, not unless you did something I don’t know about.” 

“I didn’t!” 

“Then consider yourself innocent. I’m sorry I didn’t understand you.” 

“I’m sorry for not explaining the difference,” you add. 

Jack looks at both of you, all sunny-eyed, ready to be coddled by somebody and without a favourite. “Okay, thank you. It’s not your fault you didn’t know, dad. And it’s okay about the explaining,” he says to you seriously. ”Explaining is hard.” 

Jack encroaches back into the room now he’s believed, reaching for Aaron’s legs, markedly pleased when his dad bends down to hug him. It’s an apology cuddle, but it also checks for resentment or sadness alike. Jack closes his eyes, alright with how things have worked out. 

You feel ever so slightly excluded, but you do your best to stay still, loyally waiting your turn, and rewarded handsomely when Jack finishes hugging his dad and crowds you instead, arms held up insistently. There’s no protesting when you lift him onto the counter for a better hug. When you say sorry again for technically getting him into trouble, he shakes his head. 

“Just an accident,” he says, in the tenor of a practised line, one of Aaron’s mantras sinking in. 

“Can I make it up to you? We won’t exclude dad this time.” 

Jack gets lifted from one counter to another. You let him eat one of his cookies in the bathroom (and despite his face mask) but wrinkle your nose at the idea, his dad beside him, leaning back, tie undone and t-shirt unbuttoned to the third. The slice of undershirt on display makes your week. 

Completely still as he is, you raise yourself up to draw the face mask onto Aaron’s cheeks and forehead. He laughs like Jack did at the cold, more of a giggle, but he doesn’t move. 

“It does feel like mud,” Aaron says. 

“I told you,” Jack says. There’s cookie crumbs stuck in the mask around his mouth. 

You kiss Aaron chastely. 

“Just wait for how soft this is gonna make your skin,” you say. 

“I think my skin is as soft as it’s going to get, but thank you, honey.”

[alice-angel12x]

Blue Knight ch.2

The complicated heart arc.

<- Part 1 that way/ Part 3 -> this way

"Listen to my Voice. White Lily Cookie Needs Your Help. SHe must wake up. So that she may hear my voice once more. Pure Vanilla Cookie... PURE VANILLA COOKIE!"

"Pure Vanilla Cookie!" Y/n called out to him.

"Y-Y/n cookie?" Pure vanilla gasped.

"Are you okay? your dough is turning pale as powder," Y/n asked as they gave him a handkerchief.

"I was lost in thought. Don't worry about me. Are we arriving at Beast yeast soon?" Pure Vanilla asked.

"We just crossed the border of beast yeast. Thank goodness the creme republic were willing spare an airship," Y/n said as they rested their arms on the railing.

Pure vanilla nodded as another uncomfortable silence fell between them. Neither really wanting to accidently talk about their last conversation and night together.

"So, was there anything back in your academy days that talked about Beast Yeast?" Y/n asked, trying to keep a conversation going.

"Not much, though there were many theories that many ancient life forms could be residing there," Pure Vanilla happily answered.

"Ancient life forms," Y/n repeated, then a playful smirk formed on their lips. "Sounds like your neck of the woods, ancient Hero."

"Is that so?" Pure vanilla asked with a light grin. " I may have lived for a long time, but I'm not that old."

"Oh?" Y/n smiles as they borrow Pure Vanilla's staff. "I feel like a young Cookie again!"

Y/n says with their best pure vanilla impression.

"Never thought I'd be adventuring at my age...!" Y/n said this time with a more old man voice to it.

"You little minx. I don't sound like this. Come here," Pure vanilla laughs as he quickly scoops Y/n to a bear hug. Trapping them against himself.

The two laugh and giggle as Y/n tries to wiggle free. While Pure Vanilla struggles to keep them close.

"No Pure Vanilla! Let go!" Y/n laughs.

"Then you must take back what you said," Pure Vanilla chuckles as he continues to bear-hug them and tickles their neck with a peck.

"Never! I won't submit!" Y/n roars with laughter.

"Oh, you rebellious spirit," Pure Vanilla laughs as he hugs them close

Gingerbrave and friends watch from the corner, with relieved smiles.

"Phew, I thought this was gonna be an awkward adventure," Gingerbrave sighs in relief.

"Did they have an argument not long ago?" Strawberry Cookie wondered.

"Maybe, but I hope they don't remain this lovey-dovey throughout this whole journey," Wizard Cookie groaned.

Just as the atmosphere was getting lighter, suddenly, the ship shook. An unseen monster grabbed the hull of the ship and started to shake everything violently. Everything happened so fast that the next thing the cookies knew, they were tumbling off the ship.

Gingerbread & Friends and pure vanilla cookie hit their heads on their way out of the airship. Leaving them in an unconsiouse free fall. Y/n quickly leaps into action as they dive after their party. They focused as their hands stretched and became paw like, long horns grew from their head. Their hair quickly changed into beautiful blue feathers, and it quickly covered Y/n changing form.

With one flap of their powerful wings, they quickly caught the tiny cookies.

------------------------------------------------

"Pure Vanilla Cookie? Pure Vanilla!" Y/n's voice called from the void, as light suddenly floods his vision.

Pure vanilla cookies slowly open his eyes to see Gingerbrave standing above him with a concerned expression on their faces.

"I-is everyone okay?" Pure vanilla asked as he slowly rose to his feet.

"Supprisingly, I can't recall how we got down here after we were tossed off the ship," Wizard Cookie groaned.

"W-Where is Y/n Knight Cookie?!" The Hero gasped.

"They scouted ahead after we woke up. They told us to keep you company till you woke up, or they came back," Strawberry Cookie Explained.

"They left you three alone in beast yeast?" Pure vanilla cookie asked in surprise.

"Nope! They left these dough brains with me," Said a camilione creature that crawled onto Gingerbrave's head.

"Long story," Wizard Cookie said.

"Well, how long has Y/n Cookie been gone?" Pure Vanilla asked.

---------------------------------

Beast yeast was certainly not for the faint of heart; yeast spore creatures were relentless. Coming in droves and trying to overwhelm in numbers.

It's a good thing they're weak to fire, and quickly got the message after a while.

" I must reveal it, the secret, " A voice called out.

Y/n's eyes darkened as they searched for the source of the voice. Their eyes landed on a brightly shining shard. As they reached out to grab the shard, they failed to notice. A faint glow from her chest almost looked like a star shape.

Grabbing hold of the shard, Y/nʻs reality faded away and standing before them were two cookies. They were giants; one was covered head to toe in obsidian black frosting armor. The other was cloaked in a light green cape, her hood obscuring face.

"What are you doing out here, Bliss Butter Cookie?" The black armored Cookie asked.

"Amazing, aren't they Silent salt?" Bliss Butter said as she cupped a few yeast creatures in her palms. "One day, they will be quite a menace in beast yeast."

"Would you think we should deal with them now? They could hurt the cookies we are supposed to be protecting?" Silent Salt asked as he readied his great sword.

"No, if we did, a horrible ripple effect will happen, making things worse for the Cookies in the future... At least, that's the common outcome in my visions," Bliss sighs as she blows away the yeast creatures.

-------------------------------

"You're alright! Are you hurt?!" Pure vanilla asked as he rushed over to Y/n.

Y/n blinked as the world suddenly returned as Pure Vanilla pulled them into a hug.

"I'm good. I was fortunate to land on some...Soft flora," Y/n stuttered a bit, pure vanilla noticed.

"Anyways. I found something," Y/n said as they handed the shards over.

The light of freedom shone from them. A voice calls out to him.

"Be careful. I was given visions when I touched them," Y/n warned.

"Be Careful, Pure Vanilla Cookie. It could be a trick of dark entrantress Cookie," Wizard Cookie said.

"I carry the light of truth in my soul jam, just like White Liliy does with the light of freedom in hers," The hero says. "This shard holds a part of white Lily's soul."

Y/n holds out the shard to Pure Vanilla.

'And if it really is a piece of White Lily's memories, it's all the more reason to keep it close.' He whispered to himself.

Y/n watched as the cookie's eyes glazed over and stared into the unknown. But the cookies quickly regain consciousness.

"T-this is one of white lily's memories!" Pure vanilla gasped.

"White Lily's... That's strange; the vision I got wasn't of white Lily at all," Y/n commented.

"But this is her Soul Jam? How can that be?" The hero asked.

"Maybe it's best you hold this then," Y/n said.

"Thank you, Y/n, for finding this. I'm glad to find a trace of White Lily Cookie." Pure vanilla smiles warmly down at the shard.

Yeah, you're welcome." Y/n puts on their best smile.

---------------------------------

"I told you to watch your left." Bliss butter giggled.

"Maybe say it a bit soon than later," Silent salt grunted as Bliss rubbed healing butter on his shoulder. "And where were you, Eternal Sugar? I could have used your help."

He said to a beautiful pink cookie, with ain't feathery wings and flowing hair.

"I was busy... Making Sure Bliss was protected. I must look out for my companion," Enternal sugar said as she flew to hug the Hooded Bliss Butter.

Bliss Butter chuckled as they suddenly looked to you.

[thyme-in-a-bubble]

mistletoe

a/n: thanks for helping me distract myself from everything that's happened these past few weeks ৎ୭

polls for the story: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7

summary: while spending the holidays for the first time with your boyfriend’s family, you and his stepfather finally snap and a romance ensues. 

warnings:  boyfriend's stepdad!bucky barnes x reader x peter parker, smut, christmas stuff, major age gap (y/n is a uni student and bucky is in his 40-50's), college au, forbidden romance, cheating, established relationship, bucky has a tattoo sleeve instead of the metal arm, lawyer!bucky, dubcon, the classic "stuck under the bed" trope, clothed x naked, polyamory, threesome, kissing, dirty talk, public sex, manhandling, size kink, belly bulge, spit kink, masturbation, mutual masturbation, oral, fingering, multiple orgasms, bondage, blindfold, pussyjob, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie

word count: 8687

∼ gentle reminder that feedback, but especially reblogs are the way you support writers on here ∽

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When you five minutes earlier had snatched up the spare key hidden in the flowerpot on the frosty front porch of your boyfriend’s house, the last thing you’d expected to happen next, once you’d tip-toed inside the vacant abode, was the unfortunate entanglement you found yourself in presently.

Trotting up to Peter’s room, not long passed after you’d set down your bag, your mind scrambling for the best spot to plant yourself in to pose perfectly for the surprise you were about to spring on him, that the phone in your palm tumbled out of your grasp and in the hectic flickering that crackled through your senses, your foot accidentally bumped against the device and sent it soaring under the bed that stood in the middle of the room. 

Through the grumbles that swiftly flowed from your lips, you sank down to your knees on the hardwood and twisted your head downward to grant you the perspective needed to spot the still glowing screen in the dusty darkness. 

Soon half of your body had disappeared beneath the bed as you stretched an arm up as high as your reach would let you, though as the tip of your tongue peaked out past your lips and you tried to squeeze yourself further into the dark, only a whisper of your touch managed to graze against the phone’s smooth edge. 

However, when the bright idea hit you to try and find a long item to help you scoop it closer to you, a sharp sting of resistance met your scalp as you reeled to try and crawl back out. 

“Fuck!” you hissed as your right hand soared up to the clump of hair at the crown of your head that had somehow gotten snagged on the underside of the bed frame. 

As you continued to yank and tug without prevail, dread slowly began to settle within your being before a creak suddenly found your ears and washed away some of the flickering panic. 

“Oh, thank god you’re here!” you squeaked from under the bed at the person in the doorway, presumably the guy whose bed you were trapped under, “baby, I–,” an airy giggle couldn’t help but seep out and filter through your sentence as you said, “this isn’t how it was supposed to go, I was gonna lay down on your bed or something, all dramatically, and surprise you, but now none of that matters because I’m stuck,” you laughed at your pitiful situation, your bottom barely covered in your short skirt as it wiggled up at him, “Peter, please, just help me out. I wanna kiss you, I haven’t seen you in two months.”

Though your boyfriend didn’t utter a word as the floorboard groaned beneath each of his steps, slowly crossing the room till you felt his presence behind you.

“It’s my hair,” you muttered, your hand still curled up by your head, “I don’t know if there’s like a nail or whatever’s going on under here, but it’s caught on something, and I can’t get it free.”

Gently, you felt his hand reach under the bed till it was gliding up the back of your neck. Slipping your fingers down to his, the skin felt much more rough and calloused than you remembered, though you swiftly shrugged that observation off as you guided his touch up to the imprisoned strand. 

As he attempted to break you free, his body couldn’t help but slope down against yours in order to reach your hair, and as you unconsciously wiggled beneath him at every futile attempt, you felt a hardness begin to grow and press up against your ass. 

A giggle couldn’t help but slip from your lips as you noticed, “aw, baby. I’ve missed you too,” you rolled your hips and offered him a purposeful grind, “you just gotta get me out of here and then I’ll let you do whatever you want to me… promise…”

But as soon as you’d intentionally rocked back against him, his grasp in your hair began to slacken and melt away till he let his touch travel down the slope of your spine, ghosting across your curves till his fingertips tickled along the bottom hem of your skirt. 

His warmth then disappeared from your frame as he sat back further behind you. Ever since you left your dorm room this morning, an excited spot bloomed and decorated your panties in anticipation of your sinful schemes, though now, hours later, the soaked patch that adorned the cotton that poked out from under your skirt, completely visible to the man behind you, had grown to a nearly embarrassing declaration of your desperation.

Slowly and almost hesitantly, he let his touch ghost over your covered core, catching you off guard by the tickling gentleness that your boyfriend hadn’t had to initiate with for the longest time as you’d both grown too comfortable with each other not to simply be bold in your actions, but this felt as if he was touching you for the very first time, as if he thought you were made of the purest porcelain. 

A heavy breath shuttered out of your frame as his light touch grazed over your covered core, slowly swiping up and down the drenched gusset. Eyes fluttering shut, you quietly joked, “you watch too much porn,” your words came out sounding hazy as the cliché fantasy got to you too, “if you really want to reenact this genre, then I’d much rather do the version with a washing machine and then just pretend that I’m stuck in there, that’s a much less dusty version, plus I wouldn’t actually be trapped.”

But as his tentative touch kept up, you couldn’t help but tilt back into it and feel yourself sink further into the ecstasy.

Soon his fingers hooked in the sliver of cotton as he tugged the gusset to the side, glistening strings of your want clinging to the fabric as he exposed your cunt to him, and as then his touch brushed over you without any barrier to dull the sensation, a breathy moan tumbled out of your lungs. 

Lightly, he rolled your puffy pearl beneath the rough pads of his fingers, the slick sounds of your nectar sloshing and echoing throughout the bedroom as he tickled at your core. 

And when his digits stopped resisting the tempting twitch of your entrance and they plugged it up so perfectly it made your toes curl, you soon found yourself moving even more desperately than his own efforts caressed you as you fucked yourself back onto his fingers in a rock so erratic that the movements ended up being your saving grace as your lock of hair pulled free. 

A dizzy smile found your lips as you finally regained the ability to shift your head without an excruciating sting ripping at your scalp. Though just before you reached your peak, you twisted your head to glance back over your shoulder. Your eyes swiftly widened and your efforts ceased as the man whose fingers were making your drooling pussy sing wasn’t who you had assumed. 

“O-oh fuck!” you quickly scrambled out from under the bed and jolted away out of pure shock as you came face to face with your boyfriend’s stepdad, “Mr Barnes!”

But just as his lips hesitantly parted in a reply, the front door downstairs slammed and caused you to shoot up to your feet, Bucky rising as well. With your chest heaving in your hazy periphery, you could barely think before your palms began to shove at the older man’s broad frame, till he crossed the threshold of the bedroom and his feet began to carry him the rest of the way down the hall till you watched from the doorway as he disappeared into a different room. 

And with the soft click of that door closing behind him, the creaking on the grand staircase suddenly ceased and your eyes snapped over to find Peter frozen at the top step. 

“Oh my god, babe!” he exclaimed, a wide grin swiftly warming up his features, “what are you doing here?” his feet shuffled towards you before his arms enclosed around your form, “why aren’t you at school? I thought you had exams till next Friday.”

Still in shock as you felt your pussy leak down your thighs, “I managed to get done early,” you tried to mirror your boyfriend’s smile as he pulled back to look at you, “surprise!” 

When you last year had found yourself a little internship at the most prestigious law firm in town, it hadn’t come as a surprise to you just how many of the middle-aged men working there shamelessly flirted with you as you brought them their coffees. However, what you hadn’t expected in the slightest was Mr Barnes. 

Though his attempts were much more subtle than the rest, they in no way had the same effect on you as they didn’t make you squirm as the others did, but instead every time you tip-toed past his corner office and he so much as offered you a glance, you felt yourself spiral into a blushing mess and morphed into nothing short of a flustered schoolgirl.

Numerous scorching trays of coffee were nearly dropped, sentences embarrassingly stumbled through, as well as many other minor casualties in the carnage created when the lawyer would flash you a rare smile. 

But when December rolled around, and you found yourself at the annual holiday party, you should have looked up when you sauntered up to him to wish him a merry Christmas, as the dried twig of mistletoe above was swiftly made more than apparent to the both of you as every inebriated colleague surrounding you both grew rowdy, pressuring you till your lips met one another. 

The kiss may have begun as forced and hesitant, but soon it morphed into something much stronger than anything they served at the open bar, causing you both to forget your own names as the buzzing party from around you melted away till it was just the two of you in the office. As the heated kiss broke and you remained incredibly close, blinking back at one another, a heavenly curve found your lips as he gazed down upon you as if he was mere moments away from tossing you over his shoulder and hauling you into his office to have his way with you, not caring one bit about the lack of privacy the fronted glass provided. 

But just as your heart swelled in your chest, rumbles in the crowd swiftly broke it into a million tiny little pieces.

“Oh damn! Interns, they’re trouble. Just don’t tell your wife, Barnes! I know you’re new to that whole concept, what–, has it already been a whole month since the wedding?” 

“Yeah, here’s a lesson for you,” a different man shouted through his laugh, “what happens at the office, stays at the office! Not really a good idea to take the fun and games back home to the missus.”

You almost quit a whole month before the opportunity was supposed to come to an end but couldn’t, as the mere thought of not seeing his face every day any longer somehow shattered your heart even further. 

But one day, as you felt yourself drowning in the torture, Peter, a guy close to your own age showed up in the lobby, waiting for someone he knew at the firm. As his wait drew out and the minutes neared an hour, every ounce of his attention remained glued upon you. In an effort to mend your own heart, you decided that flirting back with him wasn’t the worst method to test out. However, it wasn’t till you began to move on and you actually fell for the sweet guy from the lobby that your world came crumbling down around you. 

The first time that Peter had invited you back to his home, as soon as you walked through the door, the truth of the relation between your newly minted boyfriend and the man, who at that time hadn’t been your boss any longer for a few weeks, was instead tossed in your face like a bucket of ice water. 

Mr Barnes turned out to be the rich asshole Peter’s mom had fallen for earlier that year, the one he often couldn’t hold his own tongue to grumble about as he hadn’t yet warmed up to the new father figure in his life. 

And that was how you got stuck in the bittersweet reality you now lived in. There was no way you could end things with Peter as he was the most wonderful boyfriend you’d ever had and whom you’d genuinely grown to love. But that wasn’t the only reason why you couldn’t do it, since if you were to let him go, then you would also have to let go of Mr Barnes, even if he was just a harrowing haunting of a hopeless dream. 

The house was completely silent as every soul within it slumbered, everyone except for you as plain beige wrapping paper crackled gently beneath the silk bow you tightened over it. You’d slipped into an office, that stood on the opposite side of the upstairs to where the cluster of bedrooms were, to secretly wrap up the handful of gifts you’d hidden at the very bottom of the bag you’d brought with you.

Though just as you sliced a pair of scissors through the paper to cut off a piece for the last present, a small bump suddenly echoed throughout the dark home. 

Getting up from your makeshift workstation on the floor, you peeked out into the dim hallway. Your slow steps caused the floorboards to groan as you took a look around, even casting a glance down the staircase to the entryway that bloomed below, before the noise found your ears once more, snapping your attention to somewhere deeper down one of the shadowy corridors.

Your heart thumped in your chest as you crept closer to the latch you now noticed was open. Ladder unfurled, the abyss of the attic loomed above you and sent a shiver down your spine. 

But then as a broad figure suddenly appeared in the opening, you couldn’t help but let out a shuttering yelp, even after you’d recognised the man whom your sudden shriek startled. 

“Mr Barnes!” your palm soared up to your pounding heart, “I thought you were a ghost or a burglar or something! What in the world are you doing up there?”

Ascending the ladder, you noticed the heavy box he balanced in his arms, “I was just getting some decorations for the tree,” he huffed as you caught your breath, reminding you of the still bare pine tree that stood down in the living room. 

“Right, I forgot that’s the plan for tomorrow,” you murmured as you spun around on your heel. Though as you entered the office once more, a glance over your shoulder led you to discover his shadow, “what are you doing?” you asked in a small voice as he followed you into the room. 

“This is my study,” he tilted his head as if that was common knowledge. 

“Oh,” you breathed, “I didn’t know,” and glanced down at the gifts you’d left on the floor, “sorry, I’ll go somewhere else.”

But just as you bent down to gather up your supplies, his deep voice crackled from behind you, “no need, make yourself at home,” he sat down the box before rummaging through it, taking out a few of the delicate ornaments before only tangles of twinkle lights were visible in the container, “I’ll only be a second.” 

Kneeling down beside the electrical socket closet to the door, he then began to check all of the lights, one by one, making sure none of the tiny bulbs were dead. 

And as you returned your hazy attention to the last of your remaining gifts, Mr Barnes then once again filled the silent office with his low tone, “…look, I–…” he hesitantly started, keeping his ocean stare glued to the ground, “you deserve an apology,” he exhaled heavily, “I don’t know what came over me earlier. It was wrong, completely inappropriate, and I can’t believe I let it happen.”

Blinking up at him as he refused to lift his gaze, a quiet, “oh…” shuttered out past your lips as his apology only broke your heart further. It, of course, hadn’t been ideal the way that he’d taken advantage of the unfortunate situation he’d found you in, but that doesn’t mean it hadn’t been a dream come true for you, complicated as it may have been. 

“Kiddo,” he sighed, “I understand completely if you don’t wanna spend Christmas here anymore. You just say the word, and I’ll make the arrangements for you to go back home.”

“Is that what you want?” you heard yourself utter, “for me to go?” 

Finally meeting your gaze, a crinkle found his dark brows, “…what I want can only cause harm…”

As you lost yourself in the ocean of his blue eyes, you whispered almost dreamily, “…do you still remember?” you felt your lips tingle at the memory as you slowly rose back up to your feet, “because up till today I had convinced myself that you were too drunk that night to recall…”

Shifting his gaze, Bucky then let out an exhale, “kid…” the single syllable carrying a gentle whisp of warning. 

“Or is it just normal for you to kiss interns under the mistletoe,” you couldn’t help but go on, “especially like that?”

“No,” he finally murmured as his head found a slow rock from side to side, “it isn’t,” though swiftly met your stare to caution, “and I’d hold my tongue if I were you before you say something that you shouldn’t.”

“Like what?” you breathed, “the truth?” 

“Stop,” he squeezed his eyes shut as his head faintly shook, “you’re my stepson’s girlfriend.”

“That’s true…” you averted your gaze to where your fingers were fidgeting with the hem of your skirt, “but he wasn’t the one that I fell for first… the one that I still can’t seem to get over…”

Your eyes then found one another for a split moment, locking with each other for a single breath before Bucky’s feet began to shift and he crossed the room. Catching your face in his wide palms, he then crashed his lips against your own. 

Your heels instinctively levitated off the ground, lifting you up closer to his towering height as he kissed you like he’d just come home from some mystical war. 

A sigh softly seeped out of your nose and tickled the grey that speckled his beard as you felt his starved tongue silkily sweep against your own. 

But just as the intoxicating taste of him weakened your knees, he tilted his chin and cut the kiss short. Blinking up at him as he kept your jaw in his grasp, you breathed, “Mr Barnes–”

“What the fuck am I doing–,” a faint whisper seeped through his sigh, “I’m going to hell for this…”

“So then stop,” the sound of your small voice beckoned his gaze to find your own, “if you don’t want me the way that I want you,” your fingers tangled in his tie, “just stop and go back to bed with your wife…”

“…I didn’t–…” he hesitantly began, “I didn’t expect to meet someone like you, especially not right after I’d gotten married,” his eyes stayed locked with your own, “I thought I’d finally figured it all out, and then there you were, all fresh-faced, sticking out like a sore thumb among all the suits…” the corner of his lips briefly twitched into a faint smile at the memory, “you turned my world upside down,” his fingers on the side of your face flexed gently as he uttered that declaration, “after you stopped working there, I–… I damn near almost quit myself… but then Peter brought back his new girl, and seeing you again, even if it was just a glimpse every once and a while, it was like I could breathe again.” 

Blinking up at him, dizzy from his honied words, your fingers tangled in his tie, then tightened, and you tugged him far enough down for your lips to lock once again.

Swiftly, his feet began to absentmindedly shuffle till your hips bumped into the edge of the polished desk that stood in the middle of the office. The bundle of forgotten Christmas lights were still glowing on the floor by the ajar door as your boyfriend’s stepfather let his broad hands scoop down over your body and pluck you up to sit on the table. 

It was the hold that you still had around the silky accessory knotted around his neck that caused him to slot in between your parted thighs, just a little tug was all it took for your knees to be needily grazing against his sides. Pulling on the tie, your lips didn’t stray from one another’s for but a moment as you undid the knot, let the fabric slip out from under his collar and tumble down onto the floor below. 

Though when his smouldering touches finally came to ignite against the softness of your tits through your sweater, a whimper tumbled out of your lungs and melted against his tongue, only narrowly getting muffled by his kiss as the sound threatened to fill up the entire room.  

“Shh,” he barely withdrew to hush, only tilted his head to catch a different angle before he dove back into your sweetness. 

“Sorry,” your murmur swiftly got swallowed by his pecks. 

But when his hands continued to rake across your form, making you feel like a flicking star that shot across the night sky, as his grip came down to dent your ass, it wasn’t just a soft whine that crawled up your throat, but a full on moan, as the manner he’d squeezed your curve had sent a tingling bolt straight to your throbbing clit. 

“You gotta be quiet.” 

“Shit,” you cursed as you heard it yourself, “sorry, sorry.”

This time you truly did try to keep your mouth shut, consciously biting your tongue as his burning hands nearly singed the clothes from your frame, but when his palm eventually snuck up the short hem of your skirt and slipped off the soaked panties that clung to your core, the sound that forced its way out of your body when his touch finally grazed through your dripping folds echoed into the night. 

And as soon as the moan tumbled off your lips, Bucky’s hand rapidly vanished from between your quaking thighs as he took a large step back. 

“You’re killing me here,” he groaned as he reached the opposite side of the room to plant his inked palm against the open door, shutting it as he leaned his weight into it, “you’ll wake up the whole house,” the fingers still clutching your underwear caught the lock and flicked it to the side. 

“I’m sorry,” you dug your nails into the polished wood you were balanced on, “I swear I’m trying to be quiet, I really am.”

“Well, not good enough,” he glanced back over his shoulder at where you sat before his vision flickered down to land upon the ribbon only half tied around the last of the presents you’d wrapped. His expression then softened as he slowly picked his stride up once more, “…but, I think I might be able to help…” on his way to where you were seated, he bent down to snatch up the loose strand still not fastened around the wrapped box, and when he stood before you once again, Bucky’s gaze fluttered to your mouth as he then uttered, “open up,” before you parted your lips for him. Your eyes swiftly grew as he first fed you the cotton of your panties before he wrapped the emerald silk ribbon around the stuffed opening and tied it off at the back of your head, “there,” he purred as he pulled on the small bow at the nape of your neck, “that’ll shut you up. Now where were we? Right! It was somewhere around here,” his word was emphasised by his touch as it slipped back up under your skirt, though this time when the broad pads of his fingers slipped through your glistening petals, your purrs were completely muffled against the makeshift gag. 

As his touch tickled at your core and caused your legs to quiver at either side of him, his face stayed close to your own, nose denting your hot cheek as his breath fanned against your skin. He even stayed that close as he began to strip you of your clothing, tossing it all to the floor till you were sitting before him wearing nothing but the bow he’d tied himself to keep you quiet.

Though as you shifted to mirror his actions, he stopped you just as you caught onto the zipper of his pants. 

“Na-ah-ah, kid,” he backed up just enough for the palpable tent in his trousers to disappear from your palm’s reach, “keep your hands to yourself. Be good, and then you’ll get your present.”

However, his whispered warning didn’t sink into your senses enough as barely any time passed before you stopped fighting the urge to touch him again. 

“What,” his chuckle washed over you as he captured your gaze, “don’t tell me you need to be tied up too?”

That notion sent a shiver down your spine before a smile poked out behind your gag as you playfully shrugged, your apparent approval causing Bucky’s light laugh to reappear in a second wave. 

Spinning around, the older man before you then grabbed the cord of glowing lights on the floor before stringing it along to where you were planted. First, he wrapped the vibrant strand of tiny bulbs around your wrists, tying them together in front of your body, before he tangled the remainder of the length around your torso, over your arms and all the way down to your waist. 

As he took a step back to admire his handiwork, that’s when he finally freed his dick, letting it spring forth from his pants as his stare licked up your bound visage. The strokes he swiftly offered himself were long and slow, making you press your thighs together as you watched, a yearnful whine vibrating against the cotton stuffing up your mouth. 

“Aw, do you want my cock?” he mocked as your constricted fingers instinctively tried to reach out for him. Closing the gap between you once again, with one hand, he scooped you closer to both the edge as well as the throbbing girth heavy in his palm, “you want this dick, huh?” he smirked before brushing the bulbous head through the drooling mess between your thighs. 

Your eyes fluttered as he nuzzled his hardness against your buzzing clit, though he somehow kept your stare captured in the intenseness of his own as he dragged the tip through your petals, making them part for him. It seemed like ages that he went between teasing your leaky entrance to sweeping up and flicking at your puffy pearl, though gradually each time he’d near your little hole, crying out for him to sink into, he dipped inside just a tiny bit, each time granting you more of his length till his heavy balls were nuzzled against your slick skin. 

His lips pressed against your cheek, kissing it softly as his girth split you open. A slick symphony echoed throughout the room each time his hips slammed against your own, and as your own cries were hushed, it was only the sinful sound of that, as well as Mr Barnes’ heavy breath and the occasional suppressed groans, that filled the office and lulled you into nothing short of a trance. 

With Bucky’s left hand that he had weaved into a clutch at the twinkle lights tangled at your front, the colourful glow illuminated the dark tattoos that marked up the back of it and caught your hazy gaze as he then tipped you over and layed you back down against the desk, his ruthless rhythm never faulting for a second. 

And as you layed there before him, the both of you creeping ever near to that inevitable end, you watched as his eyes drifted down your frame. From where the string of lights squished against the softness of your boobs, to where he spread your thighs apart further, letting him spot just how perfectly his fat girth sank into you, till finally settling on the dull bulge just above your glistening pussy. The imprint of his daunting size rocking within you, illuminated just sufficiently enough by the string of glimmering lights for his eyes to spot, bloomed a bright grin on his features and caused his hips to snap, feverously slamming his cock so deep inside of you that the tightly wound coil within you had no other choice but just to let go in a burst of vibrant hues. 

Once his length was throbbing inside of you and pumping you full of his cum, breathlessly he removed the gag, though barely let you fill your lungs with air before he locked his lips against your own, both of your smiles blurring the kiss with giggles as you made out sweetly. 

As Peter’s figure appeared behind you in the doorway to the little bathroom that shot off his room, his frame abrupted the bright morning light that streamed in through the window. 

Still only clad in a borrowed shirt, the hem rose up as you bent down over the sink to spit out the toothpaste foaming in your mouth, but just as you did, a quiet click revealed your boyfriend’s presence behind you. 

Peeking over your shoulder, you spotted the Polaroid camera, that you’d remembered to bring from your dorm room, firm in his grasp. 

“What are you doing?” you muttered as you rinsed off your toothbrush. 

“Just growing my collection,” he smiled, leaning against the doorframe as he wafted the small photo the camera had spit out. 

“Hey, I brought that for capturing memories,” you snatched it back as you passed him, “not using all the film for nudes,” before bending down and stuffing it back into your bag. 

The lump of guilt that ached in your chest nearly persuaded you to spill everything to Peter long before you both got dressed and descended the stairs. 

Should you even tell him what had happened and hope for the best or had you just backed yourself into a corner so impossible that you had no other choice but to break things off with him? If that truly was so, then you couldn’t do it yet, not now, at least wait until January if that was the only option. 

Though as soon as you both entered the kitchen, the visage of Bucky fiddling with the coffee machine caused the unbearable knot to slowly melt away the longer that you gazed at him. 

“Hi Honey,” Peter’s mother came sauntering in from the dining room and flashed her son a smile before diving into a drawer for some cutlery on her mission to set up the breakfast table, “did you two sleep well last night?” 

“Yeah, I was out like a light,” your boyfriend uttered before his glance flickered to you, “this one however didn’t come to bed till really late.”

“Oh, did you have trouble falling asleep?” his mom found your eye. 

“Uhm, no,” your glance momentarily flickered to the broad back before the coffee machine, “I just–, uh, I was wrapping presents. Hope it’s okay that I borrowed some paper and stuff.”

“Of course,” she smiled, “if you want a caffeine boost, there’s a fresh pot of coffee,” and nodded in the direction of her husband, “and the mugs are up there.”

“Thank you, ma’am, but I’m actually more of a tea drinker.”

“Well, we have some of that as well,” she tilted her head before crossing into the dining room once again, “take a look in the pantry.” 

Slipping down the narrow path between the central kitchen island and the line of counters, your body brushed against Bucky’s as you passed before crossing into the small storage room. Though as your gaze scanned the stocked shelves before you, a crinkle found your brow. 

“Wait, where is it?” your quiet voice seeped out of the pantry. 

“Up over the shelf where the cans are,” Peter tried to guide you before his stepfather shot him a glance. 

“I’ll help,” he murmured, “she’s probably too short to reach it anyway.”

You didn’t even have to peek over your shoulder to find out he was there as just the warmth of his presence radiating off of him was enough to cause your eyes to flutter closed and your lungs to be filled with a deep breath. Though when he pressed his wide frame against your spine, his low exhale seeping into your soul, a dull throb between your thighs bloomed as an underlying beat to his palms he then let glide over your waist before one shot up to tilt your chin and he craned his neck to plant a kiss to your lips. 

“Did you find it?” Peter’s voice from on the other side of the thin wall caused you to fumble away from his stepdad, nearly knocking over half the contents on one of the shelves at the jolt. 

“Yep! Yeah!” you squeaked, scrambling before Bucky reached above you, plucked a small box off a shelf, and placed the random tea in your fumbling hands, “I’ve–, uhm, yeah!” before you shuffled back out into the kitchen, “water, water…” you murmured as your eyes scanned the space. 

“Over there,” your boyfriend nodded to the electric kettle in the corner before he carried the stack of plates in his hands into the dining room. 

And as you boiled the water and brewed the tea, every chance Mr Barnes got to follow his heart, he grasped with both of his fists. If the others had momentarily stepped out of the room, or even if they’d just turned to face away, there he was at your side, suddenly much closer than what was appropriate for a parental figure of one’s partner to be. If he had the time, his touch would sneak down to tickle you over your clothes, or occasionally his lips would even find your neck and make you too dizzy to even care how risky his behaviour was.  

It even continued long after you’d joined the rest at the dining table as the last two seats remaining were slotted right next to one another, though this time, now that he had the table as a cover, the cocky bastard let his hand grow even more daring than before. 

When his touch teasingly travelled up your thigh before boldly darting straight to his goal and making you nearly choke on your herbal tea as he pressed down on the seam of your jeans, rubbing your throbbing clit through the rough fabric.

“Are you alright?” Peter’s mother cut off what she’d been blabbering about as you almost spit out the hot beverage. 

“Mhm,” you hastily nodded, attempting to keep a straight face as Bucky’s inked fingers kept up their bullying between your thighs, “just burned my tongue,” the mug met the table in a soft thunk, “I’m fine,” you breathed shakily and kept your gaze glued to the piece of toast on the plate before you. 

“Oh, well, blow on it next time,” she said before returning to the topic the secrets beneath the breakfast table had interrupted, “so, what do we think,” she sank her fork into a piece of orange, “should we head off to the Christmas market today or do that a different day?” 

The scent of warm spices wafted through the air from the cluster of booths, selling every scrumptious festive treat imaginable, right next to the windy entrance to a pen where children could ride some sturdy ponies from a local farm. 

“What if we all split up for a while?” Peter’s mother suggested as you all eyed the handcrafted goods displayed by the many snow-dusted stalls, “I know I may or may not have already spotted a few things I wanna buy in secret.”

“Good idea,” your boyfriend nodded as he let go of your mitten-clad hand, “should we meet back here in, what–, half an hour?” he gestured up to the grand Christmas tree, glowing in the centre of the market. 

“Sure,” Bucky’s voice rumbled, “then we can grab a bite afterwards.”

His stolen touches hadn’t become less bold after you’d left the house. From purposefully letting his palm graze against your boob when he’d helped you reach for your seatbelt in the car, to the numerous times at the market he’d yanked you around the corner of a rustic booth to steal a kiss. 

“You know,” Bucky’s voice suddenly tickled the shell of your ear as he found you standing before the line of small children, all waiting for a chance to meet the market’s Santa, “when I get you alone,” he whispered as your eyes lingered on the elderly man in the distance, all clad in red, “you can sit down on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas…”

“Oh yeah?” the corners of your lips tipped up into a smile, “will you also ask me if I’ve been naughty or nice?”

“Well, I already know the answer to that,” he chuckled before twisting you around to face him. 

The gentle giggle that billowed out from your lungs was swiftly silenced as the older man bent down to press a kiss to your lips. 

“Wait,” you suddenly pushed him back as the exposed nature of where you stood sank in, “not here,” and your eyes swiftly darted around the crowd in hopes that they wouldn’t land on anyone you knew, “someone might see.”

Snatching up his hand, you then tugged him with you as you crossed over the small square. Passing by a small ice-skating rink, your snow-crunching steps eventually led you into the maze-like wonder that was the Christmas tree lot. 

Soon, the make-out that blossomed between the dense pines snowballed into you on your knees, on the cold and needle-covered ground, with Bucky’s girth twitching in your grasp as you tilted your head to plant a sloppy trail of pecks down his heavy balls. 

If he hadn’t riled you up all morning, then you probably wouldn’t have desperately kneeled down before him in the middle of a crowded space, just because he’d made your brain melt so fiercely that your mouth itched to be used. That or perhaps you would still have found your way here on your own if he hadn’t given you a push, after all, it had been you who had simply told him to be on lookout before you snatched off one mitten, sank down in front of him and, without any further warning, freed his fat cock. 

As you let go of his sack with a pop, before you could crane back up to swallow his length, Bucky briefly bent down to steal a sloppy kiss before letting you get back to it, though when he broke the peck, a string of saliva keeping you connected a moment as he straightened back up, a soft frown tainted your features as you blinked up at him. 

“You stole all my spit,” you pouted as his lavish tongue had managed to lick up most of the gathered slickness you’d wished to glisten up his dick with. 

“Sorry,” a soft chuckle rumbled within his broad chest as he bowed down to grasp your chin. Prying your lips apart, he then let a dollop of his own saliva drop down and land upon your silky tongue. 

A gentle smile tugged at your lips as they wrapped around his thick girth. Marvelling up at him as you found a playful pace, he only granted himself a rare peek between his neck twisting from side to side, vigilantly keeping an eye out as you sucked him off. 

“Fuck,” he groaned as your drool gurgled up your bobbing. Lips ever parted, his fingers sneaked down to tangle themselves in your hair, “I can’t believe you’re actually doing this,” he slowly brought your head back till only the tip stayed warm within your mouth, “though knowing you, you probably wouldn’t even pause if someone actually did wander this way,” a short hiss of pleasure flowed out of his lungs as your tongue silkily traced the bulbous head, “even if it was your little boyfriend, you’d probably just yank down his fly so you could choke on his cock as well…”

Squinting up at the dried orange slices strung up and decorating the living room window, you let out a contemplating hum before it morphed into an idea, “we could watch a movie?” 

“Ah,” Peter exhaled next to you on the couch, “I don’t know… what if we went for a walk? It just stopped snowing.”

“No, I don’t really have the energy left for that,” you shrugged, “plus it’ll be dark soon… I kinda just wanna take it easy the rest of today and eat as many of those cookies your mom’s baking while they’re still hot.” 

Glancing over his shoulder at the doorway leading into the kitchen, Peter then nodded, “alright, sure. We could put on some music or something.” 

“Uh!” an idea then stuck you and lit up your gaze, “and we could play a board game, or even better, do a jigsaw puzzle! Do you think you have one?” your body tilted a bit closer, “you have one, right?”

“I think we have more than one,” he cocked his head and got up from the couch, “how hard do you want it?”

“Pretty hard, but also not like impossible,” you breathed, “it would be nice if we finished it before the new year.”

“Alright, I’ll go find one,” his feet began to drag across the hardwood floor, “you go gather provisions. I think I just heard the timer in the kitchen go off.”

A gasp swiftly flowed out of you as you rushed to rise to your feet, “cookies!” before you darted along, leaving Peter to a soft chuckle as he went out into the entryway and popped open the large closet. 

Though as he slipped inside and shifted to switch on the lightbulb dangling above, near the top shelf that carried all of the games, his elbow collided with a few of the coats on the row of hangings off to the side, unfortunately knocking some of them to the ground. Among the casualties were both yours as well as Bucky’s, though when the jackets came tumbling down, a few items also came pouring out of the pockets. 

Glancing down at the polaroids at his feet, even though the backsides were staring up at him, Peter still assumed that they’d fallen out of your pocket. Plucking them up into his grasp, a smirk swiftly curved his lips as he flipped over the short stack to reveal the familiar visage of your nude form. And the deeper into the small pile he got, the more explicit they became. 

But when he reached one that captured you lying on your stomach and with your lips wrapped around a cock, the smile swiftly faded from his features as he caught sight of the hand that reached down from behind the camera to stroke your hair. His hand certainly didn’t have either a wedding ring nor a chillingly familiar tattooed pattern scrawled upon the skin. 

And as he shuffled the deck to reveal the last photo, his suspicions were confirmed as he was confronted with the visage of his stepfather railing you against the sink in the upstairs bathroom. The camera was in his one hand as he held your hazy gaze in the mirror, while the other one curved around to capture your tit, the soft peak decorated in droplets as you stuck out your tongue and let your drool drip down. 

And though confusion, rage and jealousy were the cocktail of emotions to first take over his body, the palpable tent in his jeans beckoned for his attention too and convinced him to take care of it, blindly pumping his dick till his load coated the photos in his palm. 

“Fuck…” he hissed as his stare stayed glued to the cum covered pictures, “…I guess I’ll need to have a little talk with my stepdad…”

“The whole house all to ourselves… however shall we pass the time?” 

Your giggle bounced off the kitchen tile as you hopped up to sit upon one of the counters, only moments after both Peter and his mother had driven off to do some last-minute holiday shopping. 

Leaning back against the kitchen island, Bucky crossed his arms over his burly chest and smiled, “I have a feeling that we’ll think of something to do.”

And that was how you ended up moaning on either sides of the kitchen. 

Though he only loosened his tie, popped open the first few buttons of his shirt and undid his belt to free his cock, you tore off everything except for the red lingerie your clothes unwrapped for him to see and led him to beg for the sheer mesh to stay clinging on your skin while you let your fingertips dip into the waistband. 

But before either of you could finish, the older man snatched you off the counter and hauled you into the living room. 

And as you both stood there, his arms around you keeping your dizzy form upright as he kissed you feverishly, his head then tilted back, a blooming smirk on his lips, before he uttered, “I have an idea…”

The idea in question involved his silky tie being secured over your eyes, a proposal you of course jumped at to outlive. 

Though as you stood there, one of your senses dulled as Bucky’s touch fluttered across your form, the smattering of pecks and caresses had you floating away to some far-off realm. In the blissful fog of it all, you lost track of his touch and swore on occasion that it didn’t add up, as sporadic kisses were planted in places not plausible from where you thought he stood, or his wide hands even seemed as if they weren’t just one pair. 

And as you tried to connect the dots, your fingers fluttered up to push the makeshift blindfold up to your forehead, and the visage that met your eyes promptly caused them to grow wide. 

“Peter!” you gasped as you came face to face with not only Bucky, but also your boyfriend, “I–, I–”

“Hey babe,” he simply breathed as both his own and his stepfather’s touch faded from your half-naked form. 

“Peter,” your heart hammered in your chest as tears began to blur your vision, “I am so so sorry. I–, this isn’t what it looks like.”

“Oh yeah? So you’re not sneaking around with my stepdad behind my back?” he kept your gaze captured in his, “baby, it’s–,” a sigh broke up his sentence, “I was about to say that it’s alright, but–,” a dry chuckle then bubbled out of his throat as it obviously wasn’t okay, before he then shook his head and got to the point, “we had a little chat, Bucky and I.”

“…you did?” you finally shifted your glance and let it flicker to Mr Barnes. 

“Yeah,” Bucky nodded, “we came up with a little arrangement so that we’d all get what we want.”

“So now all you gotta do is just tell the truth,” Peter’s fingers floated up to tug a stray strand of hair behind your ear, “did you just use me to get to him? Was anything about our relationship real?” he asked in a soft and sombre tone. 

“It was, it is,” you swore as you raised up your own palm to graze over his that still lingers by your jaw, “I may have lied to you about certain things, but my feelings for you were never one of them.”

“Okay…” your boyfriend’s head slowly began to rock in a nod. As he let you lace your fingers in with his own, another question left his lips, “so, do you think that heart of yours is big enough for the both of us?” 

Your vision then widened before it shifted between both of the men standing before you, “…are you suggesting–”

“Only if you want to,” Bucky tilted his head and awaited your answer. 

“I–,” you gasped as a grin slowly grew upon your lips, “oh my god!” and an uncontrollable laughter bubbled out of you. 

“Is that a yes?” Peter asked, his hand still in yours. 

“Yes! Yes, of course, it is!” you beamed before throwing your arms around him and crashing your lips against his own, only moments before you shifted to mirror the action with the older man still by your other side.

And as the kiss you pressed to Bucky’s lips stretched and drew out, it suddenly broke when he abruptly tossed you down to lay across the plush couch behind you. As he slotted in between your parted thighs and clutched the red mesh to the side in order to finally grant himself some of the sugar you’d teased him with moments before, your head sloped over the armrest before Peter appeared above you and bent down to claim your lips in a kiss to muffle the whine that flowed from them just as his stepdad stretched your open. 

Momentarily, Bucky plucked your hips up off the couch and drove them to meet his own, fucking you like a toy, before he let you drop back down and joined you on the sofa. 

And as the older man between your thighs spread them wider and granted himself the perfect view of how his staggering girth disappeared in your fluttering pussy, your boyfriend above you slid a hand under your head and tilted it closer to the length throbbing in his fist. 

Tapping his cock against your moan, it didn’t take long before he was buried in your mouth, each greedy thrust bringing him further down your throat till the imprint of his cock bulged in your neck. 

“That’s impressive,” Bucky commented on the way the younger man fucked your face, “why haven’t you shown me that party trick yet?” he hummed as Peter roughly yanked his dick back out and granted you the chance to catch your breath. 

Seizing the moment, Bucky flipped you around before your mouth could be filled once again, tossing you onto your knees and letting your forearms crash to the armrest, your head nearly falling face-first into Peter’s lap, lending him to catch you as he flashed the man behind you a grin, “you know that she does anal too, right?” 

A low groan then flowed from Bucky’s lungs as he let his broad thumb sweep across your little rosebud, “does she now…”

“Yep,” Peter grunted proudly, “she might even let us fuck both of her pretty holes at once if we’re real nice. She’s let me do that before with toys.”

“Of course she has,” Bucky chuckled lowly as he eased his fat cock back inside, “what do you say, kid? It is Christmas after all, I think we deserve something special.”

“I–, uhm,” you tried your best to answer him through the ecstasy they tossed you into, “sure.” 

“Attagirl,” Bucky croaked as his heavy balls tapped messily against your puffy pearl, “do you wanna pick who gets what honour?”

But before you could squeak out an answer, Peter instead uttered, “or we could make it a game, let you try and guess,” as his touch travelled up to tug at the blindfold still resting atop your brow. 

© 2024 thyme-in-a-bubble 

[scottiexmariee]

Ok so I've been loving all if the stuff you've been putting out so far, it's literally so good!!! My request is how the lads would react to you falling down the stairs and I'm talking like a long stream of stairs (totally not bc I fell down the stairs today while watching sylus edits hehehe)

First of all, omg, I am so sorry but I giggled. I hope you're okay!

Here you go, anon. I hope this is what you had in mind! Do me a favor and ban yourself from watching Sylus edits near stairs!!

How the boys would react to you falling down the stairs

Characters: Xavier x Reader | Zayne x Reader | Rafayel x Reader | Sylus x Reader Warnings: Stairs are your biggest op.

(little bit of falling, little bit of fluff. Lots of love for anon)

Masterlist

Word Count: 1.9k

☆ Man would be mortified.

☆ He turned his back for two seconds, next thing he knows you're takin a tumble

☆ Would most likely ban you from being near stairs by yourself again

☆ “You can take down wanderers, but lose a fight against stairs?” 

☆ Would let you lean on him for support the rest of the night (he knows it hurt)

The elevator to your shared apartment building had broken down. By the time the two of you had arrived home to find that out, it was 11pm, and far too late for maintenance to come out to fix it. You were stuck taking the stairs until maintenance arrived tomorrow morning.

Normally, this wouldn't be an issue. However, your day had been excruciatingly long, and the stairs were more of an obstacle and a hinderance than they should have been. Your body was sore, your legs felt like jelly, and you really hated stairs in general.

Xavier looked down at you, stifling a laugh at the exasperated expression on your face. "I could always just carry you," He offered, extending his hand.

Whether it was your pride or your stubbornness, you couldn't accept. "I'm fine," You insisted, although it sounded like you were reassuring yourself more than Xavier. "You're tired too. Go ahead, I'm right behind you," You would very quickly find out that your last statement aged like milk left out in the sun.

Xavier shot you one last skeptical glance before he turned and began walking up the stairs. You followed suit, doing a decent job until you stepped wrong and lost your balance. Your arms flailed, successfully grabbing on to nothing. The only audible indication that you were about to fall was the startled gasp that left your mouth, which caught Xavier's attention with just enough time left to helplessly watch you fall.

You stumbled backward, colliding with every single one of the 13 steps on your way down. Every single stair caused a painful shock and an even bigger dent to your ego.

Xavier was kneeling by your side in an instant.

"Are you okay?" He asked, his voice laced with concern. He helped you sit up, carefully eyeing you for any visible injuries. You were very sore, but luckily not seriously injured. At most, you'd likely be bruised in the morning.

You let out a huff of air, stifling a pained grunt in the process. "Well, that was embarrassing,"

Xavier stared at you, wide-eyed and looking like he was 3 seconds away from calling an ambulance.

"Xav. I'm alright," You insisted, twisting to lift yourself up.

Xavier intervened, quickly scooping you up before you could get to your feet.

"No," He said, shaking his head. "You're banned from stairs,"

With that, he began walking back up the stairs you'd just tumbled down. While you were nearly dying from the embarrassment, Xavier actually didn't mind carrying you. In fact, he'd rather carry you up and down every flight of stairs you encountered for the rest of your life if it meant he wouldn't witness another fall like that again.

Once you were safely at the top, he gently set you down outside of your apartment, making sure to keep hold of you in case you were unsteady on your feet.

"I can stand," You assured him. You were still heavily embarrassed, but ultimately thankful that he was so sweet.

He kept an arm on you until your door was unlocked.

"Is it too soon to say you should have accepted my offer the first time?"

You shot him a glare, although it lacked any real heat.

"I think I should stick around for the night, just in case you happen to encounter anymore stairs,"

❅ Professional Zayne mode engaged immediately

❅ Depending on how bad the fall was, you're getting a full body exam before you're even allowed off the floor

❅ and that's not it, either

❅ You think you might bruise? Cold Compress. 15 Minutes. Now.

❅ Man will be stressed for the rest of his life any time you're in the same vicinity as a single stair

Zayne had lost track of the amount of times he'd warned you to be slower coming down the stairs. Every single time you came down them, two at a time and at a speed that was less than acceptable, he'd get heart palpitations, convinced that this was the time you were going to fall.

It was coming, and he knew it. He warned you. You, however, tore through the house like a woman on a mission. You had a habit of learning the hard way, and you're simply too prideful to take his warnings seriously.

Until about 30 seconds ago.

You don't even remember what you were going to tell him. You'd been upstairs, he'd been downstairs. You raced down the stairs, coming in hot, and somehow miscalculated a step about halfway down.

That fall that Zayne had warned you about numerous times was finally a reality, and damn it was painful.

Zayne, from the kitchen, heard what sounded suspiciously like a body bouncing off the stairs and immediately stopped what he was doing to come check on you.

He rounded the corner, and there you were in all your glory: dazed, disoriented, and sore with a bloody lip serving as the cherry on top.

"Don't move," He said gently, kneeling at your side. With well trained eyes, he began looking you over. "Where does it hurt?"

"Everywhere," You groaned. It was true. 30 seconds ago you were having the time of your life, and now you felt like you'd been hit by a semi truck.

The next 10 minutes consisted of Zayne thoroughly checking every limb, asking you to answer various questions ("what day is it? What year is it? Time? Count backwards from 10. What comes after W?") and forcibly holding an icepack to your lip.

He ended up carrying you to the couch, gently laying you down so he could continue what he was doing while simultaneously babysitting you.

He did not hit you with an "I told you so,"

Not yet, anyway.

However, he'd be lying if he said he wasn't looking for a house that didn't have stairs.

❀ He'd hear it from the other room and think a tree fell on his studio or something

❀ "Is it storming? I swear I heard thunder,"

❀ He'd make sure you were okay, but he's definitely teasing you about it later

❀ "I'm looking for a new bodyguard. Mine can't even handle a staircase,"

❀ definitely makes a moment post later on

❀ ^ "thought it was storming earlier. turns out it was just (Y/N) getting in a fight with stairs and losing. 10/10 ambience though,"

❀ on a separate occasion, I can see you both falling at the same time and blaming each other for it

While Rafayel was occupied with his current project, boredom had gotten the best of you. You began exploring the studio, surprised to find a set of stairs that you hadn't noticed before. Upon further inspection, they lead to an attic.

Curiosity killed the cat, so they say. You couldn't help yourself.

Was Rafayel an attic man? What sorts of trinkets did he stash up there? The questions were burning too hot to go unanswered.

Unfortunately, it was mostly old paint supplies and boxes of random decorations that had been retired. You were left a little unsatisfied, but you had gotten an answer.

As you began to retreat, you realized the stairs felt a lot steeper than they did on the way up.

It didn't take long for you to lose your footing. The sounds that filled the air were a symphony of thuds and curses.

After laying on the ground for a few minutes, trying to recover, you opened your eyes to see Rafayel standing above you.

"You good?" He asked, kneeling down. "I kinda thought you died,"

"I'm not good, but I'm not dead."

He gently checked you over and then extended a hand to help you up.

"I think you should stay away from stairs," He drawled, leading you toward the couch. "and I also think you should sit here and recover from that,"

You plopped on the couch, too tired to protest.

Rafayel studied you for a moment longer, wanting to make sure you were truly alright before he began the teasing. It was his way of lightening the mood. "Are you sure you're alright?"

You reassured him that yes, you were alright. He sat next to you, casually tossing an arm around your shoulders.

"Good, because we need to talk about your Bodyguard skills. You need training or something. You just lost a fight to some stairs,"

⟡ He was never worried about you around stairs before

⟡ but he's absolutely having remodeling done within the next 24 hours now

⟡ you are getting absolutely BABIED by this man the second he comes to your aid

⟡ You're not even lifting a fork, sweetie

⟡ You're getting tossed over his shoulder and carried like a sack of potatoes if stairs can't be avoided in the future

⟡ You're not going to get hurt again if he can help it

At times, Sylus thought it was cute when you shut your brain off around him. He knew that it meant you felt safe, and it filled him with warmth whenever he stopped to think about it.

He'd place a tactical hand over the corner of the table when you bent down to pick something up, just in case you bumped your head again, you'd hit his hand instead of the corner.

He'd gently guide you when you weren't paying attention to where you were walking, too engrossed in your conversation to look for obstacles.

You really only did it when you two were at the base. Sylus didn't mind, though. In fact, it was almost endearing, the way you were comfortable enough to turn off your spatial awareness.

He couldn't always be around to steer you away from obstacles, though.

And you, unfortunately, had a habit of walking around while looking at your phone instead of where your feet were going.

You'd done it again today. But this time, it had caused a problem.

You were walking down the stairs to get a drink, completely fixated on a video you were watching, not a single worry in the world about the steps. Sylus had chided you for it before, but it had never been an issue....until now.

You stepped too far forward and immediately ate shit the rest of the way down the stairs. Your phone clattered to the floor, ending up several feet away. Mephisto witnessed the entire thing and had the nerve to squawk at you.

To add insult to injury, Sylus just so happened to be rounding the corner just in time to see your disheveled figure crumpled on the floor at the bottom of the stairs.

He was careful not to jostle you when he knelt down.

"Can you move?"

You wiggled your fingers, your toes. Flexed your wrist, rotated your arms. Despite the horrendous pain in your side, you could still move. You answered his question with a nod.

He picked you up as gently as he could, holding you princess style with both arms, being extra careful.

"Were you on your phone?" He asked, already eyeing the evidence on the floor. The screen was shattered, but the sound of the video you'd been watching was still coming through the speakers. He'd warned you about walking distracted before, but was usually there to be a hero. Not this time.

"Maybe,"

He refused to get more than three feet away from you for the next several hours, constantly offering to get you various things you may need. Water? He's on it. A snack? You bet. Heating pad? Consider it done.

If you had known that accidentally falling down the stairs would cause Sylus to get all soft and cradle you like you were made of glass for the next few hours, you'd have fallen on purpose a lot sooner.

[pitlanepeach]

Invisible String — Chapter Three (3/5)

(MAX VERSTAPPEN × CELESTE S. PEREIRA)

SUMMARY — Celeste's ambition was her shield, her love for her family her foundation. Max's fame was his cage, the truth his prison. The invisible string connecting them was one they could neither see nor deny - pulling them together in spite of it all.

WARNINGS — Sexually suggestive content. Chronic illness (Type 1 Diabetes). Lying and deception. Mentions of death of a parent. Emotional themes (grief, trust issues). Identity concealment. Angst + Fluff. Eventual happy ending. Age difference (26-23).

As always, a huge thank you to @emma-manuhpe for her help with this chapter!

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

The car ride from the airstrip in Nice to Monaco was quiet, save for the low hum of the engine and the occasional hiss of Max’s breath when he shifted wrong. He’d insisted on driving. Celeste had argued—flatly, quietly, in a tone that wasn’t quite sharp but certainly wasn’t soft. But he’d held her gaze and said, “Please,” and she’d let him.

Now, seated in the passenger seat with her arms wrapped around herself, she watched the winding streets of the city blur past. Everything here was familiar: the port's gleam, the coastline's curve, the faint scent of sea salt even from inside the car. But nothing felt the same.

She hadn’t looked at Max since they landed.

He hadn’t pushed.

They pulled into the pharmacy near her apartment. “Stay in the car,” she told him.

He ignored her. “You might need help.”

“I’ve done this alone since I was seventeen.”

“Celeste.”

She paused, one hand on the door handle. Then, without a word, she stepped out.

Max followed.

Inside, she moved with the brisk precision of someone who’d done this more times than she could count. The pharmacist recognised her, made small talk and then handed her the usual prescription—insulin pens, needles, glucose tabs and a small new cooler pack for travel. She signed the receipt with a flourish that looked more like muscle memory than intent.

Max stood beside her silently, hands in his pockets, watching. When they stepped back out into the sun, he finally said, “You were running low on it  in England?”

She nodded once, not looking at him.

“You should’ve said something.” He told her. 

“You shouldn’t have lied to me,” she replied simply. 

That shut him up.

When they got to his apartment, the air shifted. Familiarity pulled at her the second they opened the door. Jimmy and Sassy came sprinting from opposite ends of the room, howling like they hadn’t been fed in a month. Celeste knelt down immediately, tears springing to her eyes before she could stop them. Sassy climbed up into her arms and nuzzled her neck, purring loud enough to be heard across the room.

“They missed you,” Max said gently.

Celeste didn’t respond. Just pressed her face into Sassy’s fur and closed her eyes.

Jimmy pawed at Max’s shoelaces. He knelt stiffly, wincing as he scooped the cat into his lap, scratching behind his ears. “Good to see you too, buddy.”

Celeste watched him for a moment, then finally said, “You’re terrible at pretending not to be in pain.”

He looked up, sheepish. “Yeah. I know.”

A long silence passed between them.

“Do you want a drink?” She asked, standing.

“I’d love one,” he said softly, like it was a peace offering.

She moved around the kitchen without saying much. The kettle clicked on, and the air filled with the scent of mint and lemon. Max sat carefully on the couch, Jimmy still curled on his lap. 

When she handed him the mug, their fingers brushed. He looked up at her.

“I thought I’d lost you,” she whispered.

His breath caught. “You didn’t.”

Her expression crumpled, just for a second. Then she sat beside him—not close, not touching, but there.

“I’m so mad,” she said, staring into her cup.

“You’re allowed to be,” he said. 

Her throat worked around a lump. “It’s not just what you did. It’s what it reminded me of. What I lost.”

Max stared at her, confused. 

Another beat of quiet.

Then, finally, Celeste shifted just enough for her shoulder to brush his. Max didn’t move—just let her stay there.

The tension hadn’t vanished. It hovered like fog. But beneath it, something warmer was returning.

Relief. Not full forgiveness, not yet. But the beginnings of it.

And when she reached over and slipped her hand into his, Max held it like he’d never let it go again.

—

The yacht skimmed across the water, silent but powerful beneath them.

Max stood near the railing, one hand braced carefully against the edge as he looked out over the Mediterranean. The wind tousled his hair, and Celeste could see how tightly he was gripping the polished metal, like he needed the steadiness of something solid.

He hadn’t asked where they were going.

She hadn’t offered it.

Celeste sat on one of the padded benches, sunglasses hiding her eyes, arms folded across her chest. The sea looked bluer than usual today. A little crueller too.

When they docked at a small private inlet just outside the city, he finally turned to her. “Is this where your mother lives?”

“No,” she said simply. “I own this plot of land.”

They hiked the trail in silence. Max tried to hide how much it hurt, but she knew. Every shift, every breath, every footfall made him wince. But he didn’t complain.

He followed her.

The path curved through tall, dry grass and white stone until it finally opened onto a quiet hilltop shaded by cypress trees. At the centre, there was a small marble headstone — worn by salt air and time but lovingly cared for. White orchids grew at its base.

Celeste stopped a few paces away.

She didn’t cry. Not at first.

“This is where I come when the world gets too loud,” she said quietly.

Max stayed beside her, wordless.

She stepped forward and knelt beside the stone. Her fingers brushed over the engraved name, the one Max had seen a thousand times — on documentaries, in highlight reels, in golden footage replayed at every F1 tribute for greatness.

Ayrton Senna da Silva.

She swallowed. Her voice was tight when she finally said, “Max, I’d like you to meet my Papi.”

Max didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stared, the breath gone from him.

Celeste gave a bitter little laugh. “According to Google, he’s your hero.”

It took him a long time to speak.

“Celeste,” he whispered, almost afraid to say more.

But she kept going because she had to. “I’m not angry at you just because you lied,” she said. “I’m angry because I spent my entire life avoiding your world, Max. Because my mother hardly survived the grief, and I don’t think I could do it.” She looked back at Max now, and he was staring at her with wide, wet eyes. “I grew up wanting,” she said. “In secret. Quietly. Missing it. Missing him. But I was never brave enough to ask questions or take a peek into his world. Until last week. And then… And then you crashed, and it felt like I was living inside a nightmare.”

Max stepped closer, slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. And then, gently — “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because you didn’t tell me anything, did you?” She sniffled, bitterly. “And I didn’t even think it’d be a big deal. I thought your dad was rich too, you know? It didn’t feel like a lie.”

Max was silent for a long time. Then, softly, in Dutch, “Lieverd… I will never forgive myself for doing that to you. For scaring you that way—for that being the way you found out.”

She blinked hard.

He stepped beside her, slowly reaching for her hand. She let him.

“I—I know a lot about your father,” Max said, and his tone was wavering. “I grew up idolising him, and I’m so sorry, baby, that you were not allowed to do the same.”

Her shoulders trembled.

He kissed her temple, arms winding around her even as pain flickered through his body.

“No more secrets,” he murmured. “Please. Whatever this is, wherever we’re going—I want it all. The truth. The past. The weight.”

She leaned into him at last. Boneless, soft. Like she’d been holding up the world and could finally set it down.

“I want you to show me,” she whispered, “what it’s like. Your world. The way he saw it.”

Max pressed his forehead to hers.

“I will,” he said. “Every corner. Every circuit. Every time you’ll let me.”

And beneath the cypress trees, the daughter of a legend finally let herself be held.

—

The sun was low by the time they reached her apartment. Golden light filtered through curtains and spilled across the marble floors. 

She kicked her shoes off at the door and let the silence settle around them.

Max followed her in slowly. His gaze swept the apartment — and then landed on the chaos.

It was everywhere.

Stacks of old magazines. Faded Polaroids. A shoebox overflowing with vintage pit passes. An entire wall still half-covered in framed photographs of Ayrton in his prime — laughing in some, scowling in others, always golden with speed. On the couch, a crumpled McLaren team jacket, far too big for her, draped across the back like someone had just worn it.

Celeste exhaled shakily. “Sorry,” she murmured. “I meant to clean it up. I just… I couldn’t.”

Max didn’t say anything. He walked over to the table, picking up a photo of her mother holding a baby — her, wrapped in a blue blanket.

He smiled softly. “You have his eyes.”

Celeste sank onto the couch. The tension of the last two days was crashing down on her all at once — exhaustion, fury, disbelief, love. She didn’t speak. She didn’t trust herself to do it without breaking.

Max gently set the photo down. He began collecting the scattered memorabilia, careful not to bend corners or smudge old ink. As he moved through her space, he started talking — quietly, almost like he wasn’t sure if she’d want to hear it.

“My dad used to tell me stories,” Max said. “About Ayrton. He admired him… more than anyone. Said he was fierce. Brave. Said he drove like the car was part of his soul.”

Celeste looked up at him.

Max was crouched in front of a pile of VHS tapes, reading the handwritten labels. “He told me Ayrton never backed down from a wet track. Said he could find grip where no one else could. Said it was like magic.”

A small, raw sound escaped her throat. She covered her mouth with her hand, but her shoulders trembled.

Max turned to her. He crossed the room, lowering himself beside her slowly, carefully. He didn’t reach for her yet.

“He said Ayrton raced like he had something to prove to God.”

Celeste let out a broken breath. Her hands were shaking now.

“I never got to ask anyone about him,” she whispered. “I had his name and his smile, but… I didn’t have him. Not ever, Max.”

Max leaned forward, gently taking her hand. “You have me.”

Tears slipped silently down her cheeks. She didn’t sob. She didn’t collapse. She just… let it happen.

And Max held her hand, not letting go.

“He told me Ayrton was more than a driver,” Max said. “He was a philosopher in a racing suit. He didn’t just race to win — he raced to feel alive.”

Celeste closed her eyes. She imagined her father through Max’s eyes — through the reverence passed from one generation to the next, father to son, rival to hero to memory.

“You knew him,” she said, voice thick. “In some small way… you really did.”

Max touched her cheek, wiping away a tear with the back of his hand. “And now I get to know him even more through you.”

She turned into his touch. Her breath hitched. “Thank you.”

They stayed like that for a long moment — still, grounded, surrounded by decades of memory and grief.

Then Max stood again and held out his hand. “Come on,” he said softly. “Let’s put your Papi’s legacy back in order.”

Celeste stared at him.

And then, slowly, she nodded.

Together, they began to clean, frame by frame, photo by photo, rewriting the story, piece by tender piece.

—

Her home office was quiet. Celeste had kicked off her heels under the desk and curled one foot beneath her as she worked by lamplight. A spreadsheet glowed on one monitor, a scanned deed on the other. 

Her phone buzzed — a message from Max. 

You okay?

She typed back with one hand. 

Still working. Almost done.

Her glucose monitor vibrated softly against her skin — a nudge, not a crisis. She popped a cube of dextrose from the drawer without looking away from her screen, highlighting a clause and drafting an internal memo with clinical ease.

This was the part no one saw. The quiet diligence. The care for language and loopholes. Her name wasn’t on a building, but it lived in contracts worth tens of millions. Quiet power. Earned.

She saved the file, sent the email, and let herself exhale.

Another day. Another win.

–

The café was tucked just off the main strip in Monaco, overlooking the marina. It was the kind of place with white umbrellas and little glass bowls of sugar cubes, where locals read the paper and tourists tried to pretend they belonged. Max had picked it without thinking—an old standby he always visited after race weekends. Familiar. Easy.

Celeste sat across from him, mostly quiet, half-focused on the silver slice of sea visible between buildings. Her fingers were curled around a mug she hadn’t really sipped from. Everything around her felt… loud. Even the sunlight seemed louder in Monaco. And Max—Max had been different ever since Silverstone. Clingy, maybe. Or just more attentive. Driving her everywhere. Ordering for her. Holding her hand across the tabletops like it tethered them both to something real. Like if he let go, she might drift off and disappear.

She didn’t have the energy to fight him on it.

He was halfway through his espresso when the café door jingled and a voice called out, “Max?”

Both their heads turned.

“Charles,” Max said, already rising from his seat, a flicker of surprise on his face.

Two people approached—the man was sharp in designer sunglasses, all Monaco polish and easy arrogance.  Celeste recognised the woman beside him  with a jolt. The near-accident. The fender bender. The graceful brunette who had laughed off her boyfriend's terrible driving with a wave of her hand. 

“Hey,” Charles said, nodding. “Didn’t expect to see you back in town so soon.”

“Got in on Monday night,” Max replied vaguely. “Taking it slow.”

Charlotte offered Celeste a polite, curious smile. “Nice to see you again.”

Celeste bit her lip, then nodded. “You too.”

Max gestured between them. “Celeste, this is—”

“We’ve met,” she interrupted gently. “Briefly.”

Charles’s eyebrows rose. “Oh yes! That was you a few weeks ago?”

Celeste nodded again, more slowly this time, as things began to slide into place like puzzle pieces she hadn’t known were missing. 

“I didn’t realise”— Celeste began, then paused. “That you worked with Max.” She ultimately said. 

Charles laughed lightly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Yes. Shit, I’m still sorry about that. I didn’t mean to stop so suddenly for the light. Is your car still okay? I am still happy to cover the—”

“You brake-checked my girlfriend?” Max snapped, standing straighter now, a shade too loud.

Celeste turned to him sharply. “Your what?”

Charles looked stunned. “I didn’t know she was — I mean, she was tailgating—”

“I was not!” Celeste cut in, offended.

“Jesus, Charles,” Max muttered, one hand braced against the table like he had to physically restrain himself from launching across it.

Charlotte slid her hand onto Charles’s arm with practiced ease. “It was nothing. Everyone walked away fine.”

Charles nodded rapidly, palms up. “Yes! Her car was fine; she was fine. No harm done, right?”

Celeste turned to Max, her pulse still skipping. “Girlfriend?” She repeated, more quietly now.

Max looked at her, that same boyish, half-guilty look he always wore when his heart got ahead of his brain. “Well… yes. I hope so, at least.”

It stunned her how quickly the word had been spoken, how easily he’d claimed her. Not out of bravado, but protectiveness. Out of something warmer. Something real.

Charlotte, ever the observer, gave her a look that was almost knowing. Almost sympathetic.

Celeste forced a breath out. “Right. Okay. Girlfriend.”

Charles, apparently sensing the tension was slowly thawing, took another step closer to the table. “You really did handle it well,” he told her. “I mean, that whole situation. No panic, no yelling. Very calm.”

Max sat down again, eyes still narrowed at Charles like he was debating whether to let it go or start a physical fight in the middle of a crowded cafe.

Celeste offered a small shrug. “I am a calm person.”

Charles chuckled, about to respond—until Max muttered under his breath, “What an idiot. Brake checking a Senna…”

Charles froze. “Pardon?”

Max winced slightly, eyes darting to Celeste. “Nothing. Ignore—”

“No, no, no.” Charles leaned in, his voice suddenly low and intense. “You called her a Senna.”

Celeste gave Max a long, unimpressed stare. “Seriously?”

Max grimaced. “Slip of the tongue?”

Charles’s jaw dropped. He turned to her, eyes wide. “You… you’re a Senna?”

Celeste raised her brows, then took a sip of coffee as though this conversation were happening to someone else. “Well, yes.”

“You did not tell me!” He cried, scandalised. “We hit each other in traffic, and you didn’t say a word!”

“It is not casual conversation. And I’ve never told anyone, Charles,” she said smoothly. “Not until recently. Don’t take it personally.”

Charles looked back and forth between her and Max. “But… that means…”

Charlotte shook her head with a quiet laugh. “Charles, calm down.”

Max reached under the table for Celeste’s hand again. “Schat, you okay?”

She blinked at him. The concern in his eyes was so soft, so obvious. And in that moment, whatever remnants of old anger, confusion, or exhaustion still clung to her chest began to fall away like dust.

“I’m okay,” she said softly. “It’s just… a lot.”

He squeezed her hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Charles sat down at the next table, still muttering to himself. “A Senna. Max Verstappen’s girlfriend is a Senna. What the hell…”

Celeste smiled faintly and leaned in to Max. “You know that for that, I am driving home, right?”

Max gave her a pained look. “No. Please. I will let you choose where we order from for dinner. Anywhere you like. Just let me drive, yes?”

She let out a quiet, genuine laugh. “Okay. Fine.”

—

Max’s apartment smelled faintly of laundry detergent — lived-in and warm. The cats had passed out after their usual dramatic greetings: Jimmy draped across the back of the couch like a sun-drunk king, and Sassy curled into the days last light.

Celeste stood near the far wall, arms crossed, eyeing the hulking rig in the corner like it might lurch to life.

“It’s scary,” she said flatly.

Max grinned, crouched beside the racing sim, adjusting the pedals. “It’s not that scary.”

“It has four screens.”

“Three,” he corrected. “The top one’s just telemetry.”

“That doesn’t help your case.”

He looked over his shoulder, laughing. “Come here. I’ll show you.”

She stepped closer, cautious, eyeing the cockpit-like seat as he explained the setup — the wheel, the pedals, the paddle shifters. She nodded along, skeptical.

“I don’t know, Max,” she said, frowning. “Seems like a whole lot of trouble just to play pretend.”

“You sound like Lando,” he muttered. “Just get in. I’ll walk you through it.”

He held out his hand, and after the smallest pause, she took it — letting him guide her into the seat. Her knees bumped the wheel. The seat felt too close and too deep. Everything about it was oddly intimate.

“Okay,” he said, settling beside her on the edge of the platform, “relax your shoulders. Hands at ten and two. Left paddle is downshift; right is up.”

“I’m not an alien, Max. I’ve driven a car before.”

“Yeah, but you’ve never tried to drive my car before.”

She rolled her eyes, but he saw the ghost of a smile tugging at her mouth.

The screen blinked on, Spa-Francorchamps, naturally, and as the countdown began to beep, Celeste tensed like she was bracing for liftoff.

The car lurched forward and immediately spun off track.

Max winced. “Okay. That’s normal. Everyone spins the first time.”

“I tapped the throttle,” she snapped.

“Exactly.”

Celeste reset, this time feathering the pedal more carefully, easing out of the pit lane, and turning too sharply into La Source.

“God, this is twitchy.”

“It’s reactive,” Max said. “You have to be smooth. Anticipate the weight transfer. Like dancing.”

“I don’t dance.”

He leaned closer. “Lie.”

She glanced at him — and promptly missed the apex of Turn 4, the car bouncing over curbs and into the grass.

“I hate this.”

“No, you don’t.”

“…I kind of don’t,” she admitted, resetting again with a determined frown.

By her third lap, she was carving corners, heel-toeing instinctively. Her movements were clean, confident, and precise. Max leaned back, arms crossed, watching her with open, dumbfounded awe.

“Wow,” he breathed. “You’re good.”

Celeste smirked at the screen. “Well. I’ve got a decent coach.”

He nudged her shoulder gently. “Sure. Nothing to do with the fact that racing is in your blood.”

She shrugged. “I’m not my father.”

“No,” he said softly, “but you’re you. And you’re brilliant.”

She stilled, her hands resting lightly on the wheel.

“I missed you,” Max said, voice quiet.

He reached out, carefully prying one of her hands from the wheel. His thumb brushed her knuckles — reverent, like a habit he hadn’t realised he’d missed.

“I missed this. You. Snarking at me. Surprising me. Being good at everything.”

She looked down at their joined hands. “Max…”

“Celeste.”

When she looked back up, he was close. Not pressing. Not demanding. Just… there.

“I missed you too,” she whispered. “So much. And I hate that you got hurt, but—” she exhaled, shaky. “Selfishly, I’m so glad it brought you back to me.”

His breath hitched. “I swear,” he murmured, “I won’t ever keep anything from you again. Not for any reason.”

He kissed her then — gently. Like an apology. Like a promise. Her hand slipped into the front of his hoodie, and his hand found the curve of her jaw, brushing carefully down her arm, mindful of her port.

When they broke apart, she blinked at him, dazed and flushed. “Somehow, that was better than before.”

Max let out a breathless laugh. “Yeah. It was.”

The screens above them blinked quietly, forgotten.

Jimmy stretched, unimpressed. Sassy flicked her tail.

Max glanced at the sim. “You wanna sit in my lap while I do a few laps?”

She blinked at him. “Seriously?”

“It’s only fair that I get to show off now.”

She laughed, the sound like sunlight, and nodded, climbing out awkwardly as he shifted into the seat. She curled up carefully on top of him, her legs folded at the side, arms tucked around his middle, avoiding every limb she knew he needed to drive.

He launched the sim.

And he was… electric.

She could feel it — the precision in his hands, the delicacy of his throttle, the way his whole body adjusted instinctively to every subtle cue on screen. She understood, suddenly, how people watched him and saw something rare. Not just speed. Symphony.

“I want to come to your next race,” she murmured, watching him cross the virtual finish line.

He paused, then glanced down at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded against his chest. “Yeah.”

“Okay, schat. Anything.”

There was a beat. Then, quietly, “Your dad isn’t my biggest fan. I, ah, might’ve been a little rude to him.”

Max’s expression cooled, then warmed again. “He’ll get over it.”

“You sure?”

“Yes,” he said firmly. Then kissed the top of her head. “What’re your sugars like?”

She pulled out her phone and showed him the app. He hummed, scanning the numbers.

“Alright,” he said. “Let’s order food. You want sushi?”

“Of course I do,” she murmured, still curled against him.

—

The night had cooled by the time they made it to bed, the windows cracked open, letting in the hush of Monaco’s late hours. Celeste stood at the foot of the bed in one of Max’s old shirts — soft, oversized, the sleeves pushing past her wrists. Max was already under the covers, propped up on one elbow, watching her. 

She slid beneath the blanket and into the quiet with him, their legs brushing, their hands grazing — all tentative at first.

“You always do this,” she murmured.

“Do what?”

“Look at me like I’m something special. Important.”

Max reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You are.”

She leaned forward then, slow and deliberate. Their mouths met — soft, careful. It still, sometimes, felt like they were relearning each other. Like she was tracing the edges of something she thought she’d lost. His hand slid to her waist, anchoring her as the kiss deepened, becoming less a question and more an answer.

When she shifted onto her side, bringing her body against his, Max didn’t rush. His fingers traced the curve of her hip, the slope of her back, the familiar map of her that still felt new because she was here now — really here. The last time they’d touched like this, it had been laced with uncertainty. This time, it was full of intent. Quiet devotion.

Clothes slipped away between kisses. No urgency, just the slow unwrapping of something sacred. Max's thumb found the inside of her wrist, the soft, steady beat of her pulse. He kissed it once, and she exhaled. 

She held his face when he leaned over her, her fingers brushing his jaw. He kissed her like an apology, like a promise, like a man who’d nearly lost the one thing he wanted most and was terrified of ever doing it again.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered into her skin, over and over. A mantra. A vow.

And she believed him.

When their bodies came together, it was gentle… But God, it was burning red. 

They moved like they’d never stopped. Like the pause had been a necessary silence before the music resumed.

Afterwards, she curled into his chest, her breath warm against his collarbone.

“I wasn’t sure we’d get back here,” she murmured.

Max held her tighter. “I was.”

“How?” She whispered. 

“Because I never stopped loving you,” he said. “Even when it hurt.”

She closed her eyes, his heartbeat steady under her palm.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Okay, Max.” 

—

Celeste wasn’t snooping. Not really.

She’d gone into Max’s spare room looking for a charger and instead found a pile of books stacked neatly on the edge of a messy desk. Some were brand new, their spines uncracked. Others had pages flagged with sticky notes and highlighter marks in soft, unsure strokes. The titles stopped her cold.

Understanding Type 1 Diabetes.

Managing Hypoglycemia: A Practical Guide.

A Partner’s Guide to Chronic Illness.

She reached out and touched one gently, like it might disappear. She hadn’t asked him to do any of this. Hadn’t expected him to. In the early days, especially after their first breakup, she’d assumed he’d file her away under "too complicated." But he hadn’t.

“Hey,” came his voice behind her, warm and sheepish. “You weren’t supposed to see those.”

She turned. He was leaning against the doorframe, in socks and a hoodie, hair still damp from his post-training shower. He looked unfairly soft for somebody that the rest of the world saw as a racing monster. 

“You’ve been reading,” she said, holding up the book.

He shrugged, a little bashful. “Figured if I could learn every inch of a car’s engine, I could learn a bit more about… you.”

“Yeah?” She breathed. 

“Yeah. What you need. How your body works. What to look out for if something’s off.” He hesitated, then walked closer. “I don’t want to guess. Or miss something important. Or make you feel like you’re alone in it.”

Celeste swallowed thickly. “You could’ve just asked me.”

“I do. But I know sometimes you don’t want to explain everything.” He offered a small smile. “So I figured I’d meet you halfway.”

She looked past him, toward the living room. “You put a sharps bin in every room, even though I told you that we only need them in the bathrooms?”

He grinned, sheepish. “I read that some people don’t like having to carry their used pen tips around. Thought maybe if there was always one nearby, it’d feel less annoying.”

“And the Instagram thing?”

“What thing?”

She pulled her phone from her pocket and flicked open the app. A post from a diabetes awareness account had just been liked by maxverstappen1. The comments were mostly confused fans wondering if he was okay or if he’d been hacked.

Max flushed. “Okay, that was maybe a little less subtle.”

“I think it’s sweet,” she said, setting the book down gently and crossing the room to him. “Completely unnecessary, but sweet.”

“It’s not unnecessary.” His voice dropped slightly. “I want to know what you go through. I want to be the kind of partner who doesn’t cower when things get hard. I want you to trust me with this.”

“I do.”

He tilted his head. “Do you?”

She stepped into his space, hands slipping under his hoodie, anchoring against his sides. “Yeah, Max. I do.” Then, a small smirk: “Even if your algorithm is now going to be 50% medical infographics and 50% cat videos.”

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he did. Eyes fond. Lips tilting upward.

She rested her forehead against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of him. Safe. Steady. Unmoving.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” she whispered. “But I’m so glad you did.”

He wrapped his arms around her, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I want to be here for all of it. The highs, the lows.”

Celeste paused and then groaned. “Did you seriously just make a blood sugar pun?”

“Maybe.” He chuckled. 

She looked up at him, utterly in love, and shook her head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours.”

She leaned up and kissed him. “Yeah. You are.” 

–

The seafood restaurant was perched on a small cliff just outside Monaco proper. The sea stretched wide and glinting just beyond the terrace railing, and Max had taken a hundred pictures of her standing in front of it when they’d first arrived.

Now, Celeste sat beside Max, her linen shirt sticking slightly to the back of her chair despite the shade. She’d worn sunglasses to keep from squinting, but even with them, everything felt a little too bright. Exposed.

Charles arrived first—poised, polished, and well-tailored. Charlotte followed close behind, her floral dress fluttering around her knees, sunglasses tucked into the curls atop her head.

Celeste straightened slightly. Growing up in the upper tiers of society had taught her how to handle strangers, how to charm and defer as needed. Charlotte wasn’t a stranger anymore—not after boutique hopping and matchas a few days ago—but Charles still felt like an unknown, no matter how highly Max spoke of him.

“So,” Charlotte said as they settled in, “Max mentioned that next weekend will be your first Grand Prix?”

Celeste nodded, folding her napkin neatly into her lap. “Yeah. First time… attending. Watching. Ever.”

Charlotte blinked. “Wait. Ever ever?”

“You didn’t grow up around it?” Charles asked, genuinely surprised. “I just assumed… I mean, with who your dad was—”

Max shifted beside her, subtle but noticeable.

Celeste took a sip of her lemonade, letting the silence stretch a second longer than comfortable. Then she set her glass down and met Charles’s gaze squarely.

“I didn’t grow up in the paddock,” she said evenly. “Didn’t watch it, either. My mom didn’t want any part of it after he died.”

Charlotte’s brows knit together. “That must’ve been… hard.”

Celeste gave a tiny shrug, more a defence mechanism than apathy. “I don’t remember ever feeling like I was missing out. It made it easier, I think, that he passed away before I could ever know him—but my mother grieved heavily. Moved us to Monaco, separated us from his world entirely.”

Charles looked genuinely taken aback. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” Celeste said. “It was her way of surviving. She didn’t think anything good could come from my growing up in that world.”

“But now you’re… stepping back into it,” Charlotte said gently. “That must be scary.”

“It is,” Celeste admitted. “Half the time I’m excited; the other half I feel like an imposter.”

“You’re not,” Max said, quiet but firm.

Celeste looked at him, then back to Charles and Charlotte. “It’s weird. This world you’ve all known your whole lives—it was always behind a wall for me. Now I’m being invited in like I already belong, and I’m not sure what that’s supposed to feel like.”

Charlotte reached across the table, offering a tentative smile. “Well, if you need someone to sit with, just text me, and I will find you. I don’t mind sitting in the Red Bull hospitality if you do not mind sitting in the Ferrari one.”

Celeste let out a small laugh. “That would actually help. A lot.”

Charles nodded too, more serious. “We’ll help however we can. No pressure. No need to be anyone but yourself.”

Celeste blinked, surprised by the sincerity.

She glanced at Max. He was already watching her with that quiet, steadfast kind of pride that made her chest ache. Like he saw everything she tried not to show and loved her more for it.

“Thanks,” she said softly. “I appreciate it. Truly.”

The waiter appeared then, interrupting the moment with menus and practiced charm. As they turned their attention to food, the conversation loosened and shifted. 

It was a beautiful evening. 

And Celeste was almost certain she’d fallen in love with Max all over again. 

–

The rotating restaurant was familiar. Too familiar. All soft candlelight and tasteful linen napkins — the kind of place her mother liked because it hadn’t changed in twenty years, not even the breadbasket or the polite nod of the maître d’.

Celeste stirred the ice in her glass with her straw, watching the slice of lemon rotate slowly. Her mother, across from her, looked elegant as always — pressed blouse, thin gold chain, her lipstick the exact same shade it had always been. Regal, in a way grief had only sharpened.

“You’ve lost more weight,” her mother said, after their food arrived. 

Always a comment on her body. Always. 

“I’ve been busy,” Celeste replied, gently. “Work’s been full-on.”

Her mother nodded. “You like it that way.”

Celeste didn’t answer. She pushed her salad around, appetite low.

There was a quiet moment. The kind Celeste always found difficult — her mother was brilliant at silence. Not cruel. Just immovable.

Finally, Celeste said, “I’m going away this weekend.”

Her mother looked up. “Oh?”

“Just… out of the country. Not far. Max is taking me.”

A pause. Her mother’s fork hovered midair.

Celeste took a breath. “We’re… working on things. He’s—he’s been showing up. In every way that matters.”

“I see,” her mother said, placing her fork down. 

Celeste felt the rush of guilt hit her like a slow, deep wave. Not because she was going. Not even because of Max. But because she hadn’t said the rest — hadn’t explained the track, the paddock, the grand prix, the fact that it was that world she was walking into.

“I’m sorry that I’m not telling you everything,” she said quietly, meeting her mother’s eyes. “But I will. Eventually. I just… I need to be sure.”

Her mother’s eyes flickered — something between recognition and restraint. “You don’t owe me anything, darling.”

“I think I do.”

Another pause.

Her mother reached across the table, fingers brushing Celeste’s wrist. “Just don’t lose yourself.”

Celeste swallowed the lump in her throat. “I’m not. I won’t.”

But later, driving back to Max’s apartment, she wondered.

Because hadn’t this happened before? A woman in love with a man who drove too fast. Who made promises with his eyes and then broke them with fate? Her mother had never said it — never weaponised her grief — but the echo of it lived in every guarded smile, every tightly packed suitcase of memory they didn’t open.

What if it’s history repeating?

What if I’m no stronger than she was?

The thought lodged in her chest like a sliver of ice.

But then she pictured Max — sitting on the floor of her apartment last night, trying to untangle her necklace cords because she’d given up on them entirely. Kissing her ankle absently, asking what kind of snacks she’d like for the flight. If she needed him to have anything prepared for her in the Red Bull unit at the paddock. 

It wasn’t the same.

Not even close.

Still, when she got to Max’s, she let him pull her into a hug and held him tight. Tighter than she usually did. 

Not because she was afraid.

But because she wasn’t naive.

–

Her apartment smelled like sandalwood when they stepped inside the next morning, a familiar comfort that wrapped around Celeste the moment the door clicked shut.

Max looked around, taking in the dustless surfaces, the records stacked by the turntable, and the shiny marble kitchen counter. “Your cleaner has been.”

“Yes,” she said dryly, kicking off her shoes. “I should warn you,” she said, “my mother drops by unannounced a lot. So if she does show up, you’re just… Max.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I am just Max.”

“Not that Max.” She gestured vaguely toward him. “You know. Formula One Max. Verstappen, Max.”

He laughed. “So the cover story is what? You’re dating a guy who just happens to look exactly like Max Verstappen? Would your mother even know who I am anyway?”

“I don’t know. But it’s stressing me out,” she muttered, opening the fridge.

A beat passed. Then his voice, quieter: “You haven’t told her about us, then? About… me.”

Celeste pulled out a bottle of water, twisting the cap slowly. “Not yet. I will. I just—she’s going to be mad, I think. About you. About… my dad. I’m still figuring out how to tell her.”

Max nodded, taking that in. “Okay. Okay, yeah. I get that.”

She turned to look at him, guilt flickering across her face. “It’s not about hiding you, Max. I promise. I just don’t want her to… ruin it. You and me. I want to keep it ours for a little longer.”

That softened something in him. He crossed the room and kissed her lightly on the cheek. “Then we’ll keep it ours. For as long as you need.”

She smiled, small and grateful. Then—“Do you want to meet my friends?” She asked suddenly, as if testing the idea aloud. “They’re… loud. And nosy. But they’ll like you.”

“Do they also not know I’m me?”

“No. They’ll know you. They’re big motorsport fans, but they tried to keep it away from me. They’ll be shocked.”

Max hummed. “Shocked?”

“They’ll freak out.” She sighed. 

He grinned. “Fine. Do you think they’ll be too starstruck to interrogate me?”

“Starstruck!” She laughed, walking toward him. “Wait until they try to ask if you’re on Raya.”

He blinked at her. “I don’t even know what that is.”

She kissed him, soft and amused. “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

–

—

Brunch was supposed to be low-stakes. Just Marie, Lila, and Jules — friends who’d seen Celeste through everything from dissertation meltdowns to disastrous Raya dates. The kind of people who knew her—inside and out. 

“So,” Marie said, twirling her straw. “You’ve been suspiciously unavailable lately.”

“Busy,” Celeste said. She bit her lip.

“Right,” Lila deadpanned. “Busy falling in love with a Formula One driver.”

Celeste choked on her orange juice.

Jules looked up from her croissant. “Wait, she doesn’t know we know?”

“She thinks we’re blind and haven’t seen her in any of the TikToks.”

“I’m not in any TikToks.” Celeste argued. 

“You are in a reflection of his sunglasses,” Marie said. “Enhance. We enhanced.”

Celeste buried her face in her hands. “I was going to tell you. I swear.”

“What’s wild,” Lila said, sitting back, “is not that he’s Max Verstappen. It’s that it is you, of all people, are dating him.”

“You hate Formula One,” Jules added. “We’ve watched you leave rooms when the intro music plays.”

“Because it sounds like the end of days,” Celeste muttered.

“Your father was a world champion. And yet, you’ve pretended motorsport doesn’t exist for the past twenty-six years. And now suddenly, boom — you’re dating one of the most famous drivers in the world?”

Marie blinked. “We’re trying to be supportive. But it’s giving identity crisis.”

“It’s giving plot twist,” Jules said.

“It’s giving repressed childhood trauma,” Lila added.

Celeste made a sound of disbelief. “Okay, yes. I spent most of my life avoiding motorsport like it was radioactive. But Max is… not what I expected.”

A pause. Three raised brows.

“He’s kind. He’s steady. He knows who I am. Not who my dad was. Not what I should be.”

The sarcasm slipped from their faces, just a bit.

“Okay,” Lila said softly. “That part actually makes sense.”

“And… he’s learning about diabetes,” Celeste added, almost shyly. “Like. Researching it. He follows all of these awareness Instagram accounts now. I don’t even do that.”

“Oh,” Jules said, voice gentler now. “So he’s serious.”

“Scarily so.” Celeste exhaled. 

A moment of silence.

Then Lila leaned forward. “Okay. So when do we get to meet him?”

“We can do brunch, maybe. After Hungary,” Celeste said cautiously. “I’m—I’m going to watch him race, so it’ll have to be after that.”

Marie beamed. “Perfect. I’ll wear my Ferrari merch, just to make him uncomfortable.”

“You own Ferrari merch?” Celeste asked, her nose scrunched delicately. 

“We all do,” Lila said. Then laughed. “We live in Monaco, Celeste. What did you think we did on Sundays?”

—

The cabin was quiet save for the occasional clink of cutlery from the flight attendant clearing dishes. Max had kicked his sneakers off and was lounging sideways across the plush cream leather seat, one knee pulled up, scrolling idly through race data on his phone.

Celeste was across from him, laptop open, files spread out in an organised sprawl on the fold-out table. Her glasses had slipped slightly down her nose. She was wearing one of his hoodies, oversized on her, navy, smelling faintly of laundry soap and cologne, but her expression was all business.

Max glanced up from his screen. “How can you make real estate law look so intimidating?”

She didn’t even glance at him. “Because Monaco is 2.1 square kilometres and half of it is offshore-held legacy property. Intimidating is in the job description, Max.”

He grinned. “You sound like Christian when he’s mad.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She was highlighting a clause in a sublease dispute, muttering under her breath. Max watched her for a moment, genuinely curious now.

“So,” he said, setting his phone aside. “What are you actually doing right now?”

Celeste paused and adjusted her glasses. “This is a dispute over a right of access pathway between two heritage buildings near Place du Casino. One of them wants to convert part of the shared garden into a sculpture terrace. The other claims it violates a 1972 easement. I’m reviewing the historic land registry to track the original servitude.”

Max blinked. “I understood maybe four words of that.”

She turned her laptop slightly toward him, showing him a scanned document with elegant French cursive and stamped seals. “This says, basically, ‘you can walk across my property to access yours, but you can’t alter the landscaping.’ It’s from when Monaco still had goats and clobber shoes.”

He stared. “That’s… old.”

“That’s property law. Everything matters. Even the way a gate swings.”

Max tilted his head. “You’re good at it.”

She softened for a moment. “I am. I’ve been practising for almost two, but I’ve been studying for almost ten years. It’s mine. The thing I’m best at.”

He sat up straighter, thoughtful. “Yeah, I think I get it. You protect people’s homes. Their investments. Their history.”

Celeste blinked at him, surprised.

“Don’t look so shocked,” he said, reaching for her foot under the table. “I have a brain sometimes.”

She laughed softly. “Sometimes.”

He grinned, resting his chin on his hand as he watched her work. “You always seem to have something to do. You never slow down.”

“I am on a plane to watch you race,” she reminded him. “That is me slowing down.”

Max watched her scroll, her eyes flicking through legal texts like a pianist sight-reading music. “If you ever want to switch careers, I’m hiring for strategy.”

“Absolutely not,” she said, not missing a beat.

But she was smiling.

–

The air in Budapest was hot and sticky as they descended the steps of the private charter. Max’s hand skimmed the small of her back, guiding her more than touching — a silent, steadying reassurance.

Celeste wore dark sunglasses and a linen blazer over a simple black Chanel logo tank. She looked composed, though the flutter in her stomach had nothing to do with altitude.

The paddock passes had been discreetly arranged. No fanfare. No official press release. Just her name on a list, and Max’s quiet insistence that she stay close.

She had expected to feel overwhelmed.

Instead, she just felt… observed.

Not by strangers. But by Max, constantly checking in through touches and glances, and by herself — the version of her that had once said she’d never step foot in this world again.

As they crossed through the paddock gates, Max slowed. “He’s probably in the garage.”

Celeste raised a brow. “Your dad?”

Max nodded, mouth tightening. “He knows you’re coming. I didn’t tell him… everything. Just that I wanted him to meet my girlfriend.”

Celeste tried to smile. “Girlfriend’s already a big step.”

He glanced sideways, eyes softening. “Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes.”

“If you want to leave, at any time, just… go, okay? Go back to the hotel or to a cafe. I’ll find you.”

She said nothing — but her hand found his for a moment, fingers threading through his.

The Red Bull garage was a hive of motion, with engineers and telemetry teams and cables snaking across the floor. And in the middle of it, leaning against a wall with his arms folded, was Jos.

Max straightened slightly, a shift in posture Celeste recognised. A blend of obligation and steel.

“Dad,” he called out, raising a hand.

Jos turned. His eyes flicked to Celeste, lingered, and then back to Max.

They approached. Celeste kept her expression open but neutral — not cool, just measured. A lawyer’s face. A Senna’s face, if only he knew.

“This is Celeste,” Max said simply. “My girlfriend.”

There was a pause. Jos nodded once.

“Nice to meet you,” Celeste offered, extending her hand. “Again.” 

Jos took it — brief, firm. “You too.”

She sensed the calculation behind his eyes, but also the way he looked back at Max. There was pride there. Not warmth, exactly, but something solid. Unspoken.

“You came all this way for him?” Jos asked, his tone dry but not unfriendly.

Celeste smiled, just a touch. “Of course. He is very convincing.”

Jos gave a grunt that might’ve been a laugh. “Yes, he is.”

Max rolled his eyes. “We’re going to do a lap of the paddock and check in with Christian.”

Jos waved a hand. “Go. I will see you back here for media at three.”

As they stepped away, Max exhaled. “That went better than expected.”

“You weren’t expecting a punch-up, were you?”

“I mean. Maybe a metaphorical one.” He joked. 

Celeste looked back once. Jos hadn’t moved. But he was watching them, something thoughtful in his expression. 

“You think he’ll figure it out?” She asked quietly. “Who I am?” 

“Eventually. But I don’t think he’ll make a big deal of it. He might just… have questions.”

She hoped he was right. Because the weekend had barely begun, and already it was more layered than she’d prepared for.

But Max’s hand found hers again, easy and confident, and that was enough to steady her.

For now.

— 

By Saturday morning, the whispers had evolved into something louder — not quite headlines, but not ignorable either.

Celeste felt it before she saw it: the small, sideways glances from photographers near the paddock gates and the way PR staff paused mid-sentence when she walked past with Max’s hand resting low on her back.

She wasn’t wearing team gear — just a crisp white shirt tucked into tailored navy trousers — but it didn’t matter. Her presence was confirmation enough.

Max had stayed close the entire day, introducing her to a few trusted mechanics and engineers. Never making a spectacle, but never hiding her either.

But it wasn’t until they stepped into the hospitality suite for lunch that the dam broke.

“Who’s that?” One reporter muttered, not even that quietly, as they passed.

“I think she’s Verstappen’s new girlfriend.”

“She was with him yesterday. Sat in the back of the sim room during debrief.”

“Monaco girl, maybe?”

“Looks like PR. No badge?”

“She’s not PR. She’s… someone.”

Celeste caught it all. Every word. Her lawyer ears were tuned to half-conversations by nature.

Max seemed unbothered. He handed her a water and tapped her knee. But Charlotte — who had joined them for lunch with Charles — narrowed her eyes across the room.

“They’re like sharks,” she muttered. “God forbid you have a face they haven’t catalogued yet.”

Celeste laughed under her breath, but it came out tight. “It’s fine. I get it. I’ve faced worse cross-examinations.”

“You shouldn’t have to get it,” Charlotte said firmly. “You didn’t ask for this.”

“No,” Celeste admitted. “But I did ask for him.”

Charlotte studied her for a beat, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll teach you the eye-roll that makes them stop asking questions.”

Charles leaned across the table, offering his phone. “You’ve made it to Twitter,” he said.

Celeste blinked. On-screen, a photo showed her and Max entering the paddock — his head turned toward her, laughing.

The caption read — “Max Verstappen seen arriving at the Hungarian GP with mystery woman. New girlfriend? Paddock speculates.”

Another followed below, this one paired with a slightly older paparazzi-style snap of them on a Monaco balcony weeks ago — “Is this the same woman from Monte Carlo?”

Max glanced over her shoulder. “Do I comment? I can comment.”

Celeste snorted. “No, Max.”

“I can say: Yes, she’s my girlfriend. No, you can’t have her name. Yes, she’s smarter and very far out of my league.”

Charlotte raised her glass. “To being the secret everyone wants to know.”

Celeste smiled — small, private. But underneath it was the creeping realisation that her anonymity was thinning.

She wasn’t just stepping into the world her father once ruled.

She was stepping into Max’s.

And the world was watching.

–

From their hotel balcony, the sounds of Hungary’s city softened to a murmur — cars in the distance, the clink of cutlery from an open-air café, laughter rising from somewhere several stories below.

Celeste stood barefoot in a silk robe, her arms folded tightly across her chest, watching the city lights blink.

She felt… twitchy. Like a rubber band pulled too far.

Inside, Max paced lightly around the suite, drying his hair with a towel. She could hear her phone buzzing every few minutes from the coffee table — WhatsApp pings, probably from Charlotte or work updates. Pressure from clients. She wasn’t checking.

“I think I should tell her,” Celeste said finally, without turning around.

Max stepped out beside her, still rubbing the towel over his head. “Your mother?”

Celeste nodded. “Before somebody else beats me to it. Before she sees some picture of me and thinks I’ve betrayed her.”

Max gently touched her back. “Then tell her.”

Celeste sighed. “I’m worried that she’ll think that I’m just… repeating her history.”

Max started to respond — but a sudden knock interrupted.

“Expecting someone?” She asked.

Max looked confused. “I think that’s—yeah. Debrief stuff.”

He opened the door, and Amelia swept in — small-framed, wide-eyed, dressed in a Red Bull hoodie three sizes too big, an iPad in one hand and her phone in the other. Lando Norris trailed after her, mid-yawn.

“Notes,” Amelia said, offering the iPad to Max without preamble. Her voice was monotone, her attention already flitting between his face and the readout. “Sector 2 needs work. You were scrubbing too much tire through Turn 9.”

“I was adjusting the diff,” Max muttered, taking it from her.

“You adjusted it wrong,” Amelia said flatly, then finally turned to Celeste. “You’re Celeste.”

Celeste blinked. “Yes. And you’re Amelia?”

Amelia gave her a brief, mechanical nod. “Hi.” Then she turned back to Max. “That’s all.”

Lando gave Celeste an apologetic grin and a two-finger wave. “Nice to meet you.”

Amelia was already halfway out the door, calling back, “Tell GP about the temperature delta.”

And gone.

Silence.

Celeste raised an eyebrow.

“She’s… intense,” she offered carefully.

Max chuckled. “She’s brilliant. And autistic.”

“Oh.” She said, with a lip purse. “That… Yeah. Okay. Got it.” 

“She doesn’t really do the social side of things,” Max added. “Doesn’t read tone or faces very well. But she sees things on track that nobody else does. Car behaviour, telemetry rhythms, tire degradation, setup feedback—she’s been with me since the beginning of the year.”

Celeste nodded, absorbing that. “She said hello. That’s good enough for me.”

“Lando says she likes you already. Amelia usually hates everyone new.”

Celeste smiled. “That’s oddly flattering.”

“She trusts instinct,” Max said. “She’s just not great at expressing it.”

Celeste glanced back out over the balcony, more grounded now. “She was the one who called me. Told me about your accident. I should’ve said thank you to her.”

She felt a little steadier, oddly. Maybe it was the reminder that she didn’t have to perform for everyone. That some people in Max’s world just were, unapologetically. And somehow, they all fit together anyway.

“She’s the smartest person I know,” Max said again, quieter this time. “And I trust her more than anyone else on my team.”

“And she’s dating Lando?” She asked. 

“Yeah. Pretty serious. She’s also, uh, his team CEO’s daughter.” 

She stared at him. “No way.” 

He nodded. “Yep.” 

“So much drama.” She whispered, like it was a secret. 

He laughed. “Yeah, baby. You’ll realise very quickly that there’s always something crazy going on around here.” 

—

The garage was louder than Celeste had ever expected — not just the engine roars from trackside, but the endless buzz of radios, the clatter of keyboards, and the sharp shouts of mechanics coordinating a car launch down to the second. It smelled like rubber and adrenaline.

She stood tucked just behind the barrier, where VIP guests lingered, headset slung awkwardly over her hair. Amelia stood beside her, unmoved by the chaos. She didn’t flinch at the noise and didn’t speak unless necessary. Her focus was surgical — eyes locked on the data feed projected across three vertical monitors.

Max was out on track, finishing a hot lap.

“Car’s oversteering slightly through Turn 5,” Amelia said without looking away. “But sector 1’s strong. Mid-corner speed is up by two-tenths.”

Celeste watched, stunned. “You can tell that… just by this?” She pointed to the screen.

“Yes.” Then, bluntly,“And by the way the shadows fall under the car.”

Celeste blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“Look at the shadows when he rotates,” Amelia said. “The body roll shows up in how it warps. More light under the rear tire means he’s not loading it right.”

Celeste stared. “That’s… that’s really impressive.”

Amelia didn’t smile, but something in her posture softened. “Thanks.”

Across the monitors, Max flew past the checkered flag. The pit erupted in restrained applause.

P2.

Just behind Charles.

Celeste watched him pull into the pit lane, car rolling smooth and slow past them, the nose stopping precisely on its marker. The crew swarmed, professional and calm. Max pulled off his gloves, helmet, balaclava—then spotted her. His mouth twitched into the smallest smile. A blink of joy in all the noise.

Just then, one of the nearby TVs — broadcasting the Sky Sports coverage — caught her eye.

“And there’s Max Verstappen pulling into the garage after a strong final lap. P2 for now — might hold. And… who’s that in the back there?”

“According to Twitter, her name is Celeste. She’s a property lawyer based in Monaco. Rumoured to be dating Verstappen, though no official confirmation.”

“Interesting. She’s not exactly a regular in the paddock. First sighting I’ve seen of her here.”

The camera panned away, back to the track. But her face had been on screen for three full seconds. Long enough.

Her stomach twisted. The headset suddenly felt too tight.

Amelia noticed. “You okay?”

Celeste hesitated. “That was my first time on international television.”

“You looked fine.”

“I—thanks?”

“I don’t lie,” Amelia added, almost helpfully.

Lando appeared then, still in his race suit, looping his arm casually around Amelia’s shoulder like he’d done it a thousand times before. “Hey,” he said to Celeste. “How’s it going?”

“I was on the TV.”

“Yeah, they’re hawks. Comes with the territory. You’ll get used to it.”

She looked through the garage, where Max was already debriefing with GP. He’d glanced toward her three times in under a minute.

Amelia followed her gaze. “He drives better when you’re here.”

Celeste turned, surprised. “What?”

“I don’t lie,” Amelia repeated. “The data shows it. He’s driving more precisely today.” 

Lando grinned. “It’s freakish, isn’t it? She just says things like that, and somehow they’re true.”

Celeste gave a soft, unsteady laugh. “Yeah. Freakish.”

But comforting too.

– 

Celeste stood alone on the terrace overlooking the pit lane, hands resting on the railing, eyes fixed on the distant cranes and grandstands that defined the circuit’s skyline. Her chest was tight. 

Behind her, a door opened with a soft hiss.

She didn’t turn. But she felt him before he spoke.

“You didn’t expect the noise,” Jos said from behind her, his tone more observation than question.

She turned slightly. “I didn’t think I would mind it. But it’s… different in person.”

Jos stepped up beside her, folding his arms across his chest as he looked out over the paddock. “It’s louder. Closer. Gets under your skin.”

“Yeah, it really does.” She agreed. 

He gave a grunt. Then he turned toward her, tilting his head. “I’ve been trying to place it.”

She blinked. “What?”

He gestured to her face. “Something about you. I’ve seen it before.”

She hesitated, heart thudding. “Yeah. I think you knew my dad.”

Jos raised an eyebrow. “I did?”

She swallowed. “Yes. Max said so.”

Jos blinked, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Who—?”

“Ayrton,” she said, quiet. “Ayrton Senna.”

He stared at her. Not with disbelief; not yet. Just… confusion.

“No. That’s—he didn’t have—” Jos paused. “He never had a daughter. Everyone would’ve known. I would’ve known.”

She nodded. Smiled tightly. “He didn’t know. No one did. My mother was pregnant when he died. She kept it to herself. For a lot of reasons.”

Jos said nothing, just stared at her like she’d cracked open some long-buried part of his past.

“I wasn’t born yet,” she added. “And by the time I was, there was no one to tell.”

“You’re saying…” he trailed off, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re his?”

She nodded. “I never used his name. My mother didn’t want me to be part of this world. And for most of my life, I didn’t either.”

Jos stepped back slightly, still looking at her like he was seeing something new under harsh light. “Shit.”

“I didn’t mean to drop it on you like that,” Celeste said, her voice more steady than she felt. “I just… I figured, eventually, it would come out. And it’s better from me.”

Jos sat heavily on one of the benches nearby, elbows on his knees. “Jesus Christ.”

She watched him. “I take it you knew him well.”

“Raced with him. Against him. Worshipped him. Hated him sometimes. That’s how it was with Ayrton. You couldn’t be near him without feeling something big.”

She nodded slowly. “That’s what people say.”

Jos looked up at her. “I was rude to you. Last week.”

Celeste gave a tired smile. “You were skeptical.”

He sighed. “No. I was dismissive. I thought you were just… another pretty distraction. Someone soft. Not cut out for this life.”

“Well,” she said, a little dryly, “until recently, I wasn’t.”

His brow furrowed. “Do you know anything about racing?”

She laughed, soft and self-conscious. “Honestly? Very little. I grew up avoiding it. Avoiding him. I went to law school. Built my own name. I was terrified to chase a ghost.”

Jos exhaled, long and heavy. “Your mother… is she still alive?”

“Yes. We’re close. But she’s still grieving him. Heavily. That’s why she kept me so separated from all of this, I think. It was a coping mechanism. She said it was the only way to keep me safe.”

There was something raw in Jos’s face now — not quite pain, not quite regret. Something older. A weight that couldn’t be named easily.

“I remember,” he said slowly. “She was around sometimes. At events. Quiet. Always with him, but never in it, you know? The circus. She kept her distance. Smart woman.”

Celeste blinked. “You remember her?”

“I never spoke much to her. But I remember her face. Kind eyes. Like yours.”

That startled her. She looked down, her throat tight.

Jos leaned forward again, elbows back on his knees. “You know, if you want… I could teach you. About the sport. The real stuff. History, strategy, tyres, the games people play. You don’t need to become part of it — but you are part of it, whether you like it or not. And Max—he’s in it with both feet.”

She looked at him. “You’d do that?”

He nodded. “Yes. Not for your father. For you. And for my son.”

Celeste hesitated. “You don’t think it’s… weird? That I’m here, with him?”

Jos gave her a wry smile. “I think it’s ironic as hell. And maybe a little poetic.”

That drew a laugh from her, soft but genuine.

Jos stood again, slower this time. He didn’t touch her, just looked at her for a long moment.

“You tell her soon,” he said. “Your mother. She deserves to know.”

“I will,” she promised. “When it’s the right time.”

He nodded once. “And when you do—she’ll probably be upset.”

“I know.”

“But she’ll forgive you. If she loves you like I know she does… she’ll understand.”

Celeste felt her chest tighten, aching with something she hadn’t been ready to name.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Jos nodded. ���You’ll do fine.”

He stepped away, leaving her in the gold-tinted quiet, heart loud in her chest. She stared back out across the track — and for the first time, wondered if maybe it wasn’t the noise she feared most.

It was the way it had started to feel like home.

—

The paddock had emptied out for the night, most teams winding down under the soft purple hues of a Budapest sunset. The circuit itself stretched wide and quiet, rubber-lined and glinting under the lowering sun like a relic from another world.

Max held her hand loosely as they walked the length of the start-finish straight, a lanyard clipped to his collar and sunglasses still perched in his hair.

“You’re really going to walk the whole track?” Celeste asked, gesturing vaguely down the long straight ahead.

He gave her a sideways glance. “It’s tradition.”

“Even though you’ve raced here how many times?”

“Doesn’t matter. Track walk is about feel. You spot little things — camber changes, elevation shifts, cracks in the tarmac. Stuff you can’t see from a simulator.”

She hummed, impressed despite herself. “And you just…do that barefoot in your mind once the lights go out?”

“Kind of,” he said, smiling. “Muscle memory. Intuition. I don’t think when I’m driving. Not in the conscious way.”

She let that sit for a beat, her hand tightening in his. “I think that’s what scares me.”

He looked over. “What does?”

“That it’s all instinct. That you trust something invisible. I’m a lawyer, Max. I build arguments with data and case law and things I can point at. You just... believe.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just squeezed her hand and kept walking, slowing them down as they approached Turn 1.

“Come here,” he said softly, tugging her closer to the inside kerb. “Your dad took this apex so late in ’92 it made Prost spin the next lap trying to copy him.”

She blinked. “What?”

Max smiled and nudged her. “Do you want to see something?”

He crouched beside the track, fingers brushing the scarred edge of the kerb like it meant something sacred. She watched him for a long moment, then sat beside him, digging into her bag until she pulled out her phone.

After a moment of searching, she found it — an old, grainy clip of Ayrton Senna tearing through the Hungaroring, all blistering precision and impossible poise.

She held the phone between them.

“That’s him,” she said, barely above a whisper. 

Max’s gaze didn’t leave the screen. “God, he was unreal here.”

She nodded, watching the flick of the car through Turns 4 and 5. “Do you ever think about how much of him is in you? In all of you? Drivers who came after?”

Max’s voice was quiet. “Every time I get in the car.”

They sat there for a moment, the air between them humming with ghosts. Then Celeste’s voice cracked the stillness.

“I think… I think part of me was always afraid that if I got too close to all this, I’d disappear into him. Into his story. That I wouldn’t be able to hold on to myself.”

Max looked at her, eyes gentle. “You don’t have to be him. Or carry him. You’re already whole.”

She looked back at the track. “It’s strange. I never knew him. And yet, being here… it’s like something in me recognises this place.”

Max leaned in and kissed her temple, slow and quiet. “Maybe some part of you always would.”

They stayed there until the sun dipped below the horizon, Celeste's phone screen going dark. The sounds of the circuit faded to nothing — just wind and quiet and Max’s hand steady in hers.

–

The hotel room was dark, lit only by the sliver of city light slipping through the curtains. The air had gone still, save for the steady whir of the hotel’s cooling system and Max’s quiet, even breathing beside her.

Celeste stirred first, not from a dream, but from the insistent, vibrating buzz of her phone on the nightstand.

She blinked into the dark, heart already racing. Her Dexcom app glowed too brightly in the gloom.

HIGH — 15.8 mmol/L — “Check insulin.”

“Shit,” she whispered, already sitting up and pushing the duvet away. Her mouth was dry. Her head fuzzy.

She reached for the kit bag beside the bed, unzipping it by muscle memory and pulling out her pen. Her fingers fumbled slightly. It wasn’t catastrophic, not dangerous, but the number was climbing, and she could feel it now — the heaviness, the nausea edging in.

Beside her, Max stirred.

“Celeste?” His voice was low, thick with sleep. He reached out blindly and caught her hand. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Just… high.”

That woke him fully. He sat up, switching on the bedside lamp, the soft light washing over his sleep-mussed hair and bare shoulders. “Do you need anything?”

“I’ve got it,” she said automatically, already uncapping the pen. “It’s not dangerous. Just annoying.”

But Max didn’t lay back down. He watched her carefully, eyes flicking between her face and the small vial in her hand. “Want me to read the app? Double-check your math?”

She hesitated. Then passed him the phone without a word.

He glanced at it, nodded, and handed it back. “Two units should cover it. Unless you feel like you’re crashing.”

“Just… heavy. Like someone’s poured syrup into my skull.”

“Nice visual.” He smiled faintly.

She injected quickly, cleaned up, and then just… sat there. Silent. Shoulders hunched.

Max reached out again, wrapping a hand around her knee. “Hey.”

“I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask,” he said gently. “But okay.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just let the silence fill the space between them until the worst of the fog lifted. Her eyes fluttered closed.

“I hate that it woke you up,” she whispered.

He shrugged. “I’d rather know.”

She looked over at him finally. “I’m not fragile.”

“I know.”

She laughed softly — hoarse and surprised. “Wow. Poetic.”

“I’m exhausted,” he said, smiling. “Can’t expect me to speak full sentences right now, schat.” 

He tugged gently at her hand. She let herself be pulled, curling into his chest, her breath slowly evening out.

“I’ve never done this with anyone,” she said into his collarbone. “The middle-of-the-night stuff. The numbers. The needles.”

“Good,” he murmured, holding her a little closer. “Then I’m the lucky one.”

–

The hotel courtyard was nearly empty — just a few scattered guests and the low hum of espresso machines behind the bar.

Celeste stirred her coffee absently, barely touching it. She hadn’t bothered with makeup and still felt the fog from the night before hanging behind her eyes.

Across the table, Charlotte sipped her iced matcha through a straw and tilted her head. “You okay? You look like you haven’t slept.”

Celeste offered a dry laugh. “Didn’t, really.”

“Bad night?”

Celeste hesitated. Then shrugged. “Blood sugar spiked around three. I’m still shaking it off.”

Charlotte’s eyes softened. “That happens often?”

“Sometimes.” Celeste looked away, pushing the spoon through the foam in slow circles. “It’s usually manageable. But I think the stress, travel, and new routines—it threw things out of rhythm.”

“Did Max freak out?”

Celeste smiled faintly. “Not really. He’s always… calm. Too calm. Like he’s been rehearsing.”

Charlotte raised a brow. “Has he?”

Celeste nodded. “I found a sharps bin in every room of his apartment. Books on insulin resistance. He’s following, like, five diabetes foundations on Instagram.”

Charlotte’s laugh bubbled up before she caught herself. “Sorry. That’s actually really sweet.”

“I know,” Celeste admitted. “It’s just… strange. Letting someone in. Letting him take care of me.”

Charlotte leaned forward, her voice low and sure. “Letting someone care about you can be scary.”

“It feels like weakness.”

“Well,” she said, “that’s grief talking. Not truth.”

Celeste looked up at her, surprised.

“I’ve seen that look before,” Charlotte said softly. “Hell, I’ve worn it. After Jules… I kept thinking loving someone who races meant always preparing for the crash.”

There was a long silence between them, the kind you didn’t need to fill.

Finally, Charlotte nudged her cup toward her. “Drink your coffee. It’ll help.”

Celeste took a sip, the warmth anchoring her.

“You’re not alone in this,” Charlotte added. “When we get back to Monaco, if you want to scream or cry or panic—I’ve got you. We’ll go through it together.”

Celeste blinked, her throat suddenly thick. “Thanks.”

Charlotte gave a small smile. “Now come on. If we don’t head up soon, Max and Charles will come looking and ruin the vibe.”

Celeste laughed. “God forbid.”

– 

Two days later, in the high hills of Monaco, dinner was served in silence.

The terrace glowed gold with the fading sun, its warmth stretching across the linen tablecloth and casting long shadows from the candleholders. The scent of rosemary drifted up from the garden below. It should have been peaceful.

But Celeste could feel it — tight, brittle tension hanging between them like glass waiting to crack.

Her mother had been quiet since they sat down. Too quiet. The kind of silence that didn’t come from not knowing what to say — but from knowing exactly what she wanted to say, and holding it back by force of will.

Celeste couldn’t take it anymore.

She set her fork down. “You haven’t said anything.”

Her mother looked up slowly. Her face was perfectly composed, eyes steady, lips unreadable. “I’m thinking.”

“About?”

“How, exactly, did you think you could keep something like this from me?”

Celeste blinked. “I didn’t mean to hide it—”

“You didn’t tell me.” Her mother’s voice was calm, but laced with steel. “You let me believe it was nothing. That you were just… dating. Dating a normal, wealthy man. And now you sit here and tell me it’s Max Verstappen.”

“He’s not—he’s not just that. He’s Max, he’s—”

“Celeste.” Her mother’s tone was a warning.

Celeste swallowed. “I didn’t plan this. I didn’t even want it at first.”

“And now you’re in love with him. With a driver.”

The word driver landed like a slap. Not an occupation. A curse.

Her mother pushed her chair back slightly, hands still in her lap. “Do you think I don’t remember what it’s like? Waking up to silence on the other end of a phone line? Watching the television cut to black? Feeling your heart stop before the car ever did?”

Celeste’s throat was tight. “It’s not the same.”

“It’s exactly the same. It always is. These men — they live for adrenaline. For the next turn. And no matter how much they say they love you, they will always chase speed over safety. Over stillness. Over love.”

She stood now, slow and deliberate. Walked to the edge of the terrace, staring out toward the sea.

“I spent twenty-nine years loving someone who never once chose me over racing,” she said, voice thinner now. “And I’d do it again. That’s the worst part. I loved him so much I would do it again. And I can’t—” Her voice cracked. “I won’t watch you become me.”

Celeste stood, tears biting behind her eyes. “But I’m not you.”

Her mother turned, face pale in the candlelight. “Aren’t you?”

Celeste didn’t answer.

For a long time, neither of them spoke.

Then, more gently, her mother said, “I just wanted to protect you. From that world. That life.”

“I know,” Celeste whispered. “But you had to know that it couldn’t last forever.”

Her mother looked at her like she was seeing a stranger — or maybe someone she’d tried not to recognise for years. Someone with her father’s mouth. His eyes. His stubbornness.

“Does he know? Max?”

Celeste hesitated. “Not everything.”

“Then tell him. Before someone else does.”

“I will.”

Her mother stepped forward, placing a hand briefly on her cheek — a fragile, fluttering touch.

“I hope he’s worth it,” she said. “I hope he is.”

Then she turned away, disappearing into the villa, leaving Celeste alone with the dying light and the sound of her own heartbeat echoing in her ears.